


Offal Hunt

by KIBITZER, lionsenpai



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 214,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5127026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KIBITZER/pseuds/KIBITZER, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the attack on Beacon's CCT, Glynda is assigned to track down and retrieve Cinder Fall, Vale's most notorious criminal. Embarking into the unknown, Glynda's only lead is the trail of ash and rot left in Cinder's wake, but she'll follow it to its end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pins & Needles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061340) by [KIBITZER](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KIBITZER/pseuds/KIBITZER). 



> Pretty loosely inspired by KIBITZER's Pins & Needles, and then it just kind of??? Spiraled from there. Now we're in deep, dear god.

Sulfur clung to Glynda like a phantom, each inhale burning down her throat like an inferno raged around her still, her eyes watering from the smoke and heat. The singe marks on her clothing documented every close call, every plume of flames turned away with but a moment to spare, but more telling still was the way she took the steps to Beacon’s highest tower with care, one at a time, conscious of every move.

The relief efforts were still afoot, the sirens louder still than the pound of blood in her ears.  Students were corralled into their rooms in a frenzy, two dozen firefighters crowded around what remained of the CCT tower, and at least half of Ironwood’s forces stalked the forests around Beacon, their rifles set to _kill_.

And still, there was no sign of the witch.

The night assisted her escape no doubt, the sky moonless, and Glynda could almost feel her slipping farther and farther from the school grounds–and the clutches of their esteemed general.

As much as every inch of her burned in unfamiliar exhaustion, the taste of a real fight echoed deep in her marrow, her feet yearning for pursuit, her fingers curling into fists at her side. There were few who managed to push her to exhaustion, even fewer who inspired in her the hollow hunger of a depleted aura.

Cinder Fall had done both.

“ _–any idea what this could do to us?_ ”

General Ironwood’s deep timbre gave him away as the door to Ozpin’s office came into sight, and something spiteful curled her lips, leading Glynda on. He sounded as though he knew Cinder Fall would escape them, and that explained the scent of slaughter which hung heavy in the air. His pride would have been carved bloody at such a disastrous blunder, and all right after making such considerable claims about the effectiveness of his forces.

Ozpin’s voice came softer, ever the mediator, ever the pacifier, and even standing at the door, Glynda couldn’t make out the words. Her smile slanted into a frown, remembering it was on Ozpin’s watch this had happened too. He would be held accountable in equal parts.

Knocking once, she pushed the door open, and the general snapped to attention, recoiling from the desk placed strategically between himself and Ozpin. His neck strained against the tight collar of his uniform, and at the hems of his ash-covered pants, fresh brown stains. No matter how quickly he retreated into composure, Glynda didn’t miss the overturned mug, the coffee running across the desk and over the edge, or the narrow look Ozpin shot her from behind his folded hands.

Above them, the gears clanked and turned, endless; and below, the wails of the firefighters sirens wailed like banshees. “Sir,” Glynda said, adding her voice to the chaos. “You requested me.”

Despite himself, Ironwood seemed a touch relieved to see her. She kept her cool, only lingering on him for a second before returning her focus to Ozpin. Glynda didn’t want Ironwood to misinterpret her examination as an invitation to speak.

Ozpin’s eyes were ringed with shadows, his face unusually severe, and stiffly, he reached for his mug, turning it right-side up and beginning to mop at the spilled coffee.  Glynda imagined she would have felt more than an ounce of pity if she hadn’t been so exhausted herself. She suspected having Ironwood in the room would only worsen the situation. He had a way of raising tension.

“Yes,” Ozpin said as she approached the desk, long strides filled with purpose, betraying none of the weariness she felt. She shot a sidelong glance at the general when she came up next to him, but said nothing. “Yes – I don’t think anyone is more qualified than you to speak on what happened tonight–”

“We don’t have time for this,” Ironwood cut in. “The enemy slipped by us, and escaped with her life. We have to do something.”

“Did she take anything? Was anything out of the ordinary?” Ozpin asked, raising his eyes from the desk to settle on Glynda.

Glynda crossed her arms, tight lipped. “No, Sir. Not that I could see.”

Ironwood tore away from them, pacing around a small circle. He was losing his composure again. Glynda smothered a smile. Honestly, she was surprised he hadn’t started laying blame on either of them--yet. “ _Fantastic_. At least _that’s_ established. Now, are we going to _do_ something about this?”

When Ozpin didn’t respond, Glynda couldn’t help herself.

“Like _what_?” she challenged, raising her voice just a hair above its normal volume. That alone was enough to silence the general for a moment, stopped in his tracks like a startled animal before he managed to gather himself and continue pacing.

“We follow her trail. She’s couldn’t have disappeared without a trace.”

“And then?”

“Even Cinder Fall can’t fight off an entire army.”

“We mustn’t be too bold,” Ozpin said quietly, silencing the biting response on Glynda’s tongue, denying her the satisfaction. “Even among us, Glynda is the only one who has fought Cinder Fall one on one.”

Glynda straightened, vague pride shining through the mist of exhaustion. “Yes, Sir.”

“How did she hold up to expectations?”

“Just as, if not more, dangerous than anticipated, Sir – she was able to hold me off for several minutes before the general arrived. If she had not escaped in the ensuing turmoil, we might have still been at a destructive stalemate.”

Merely describing the event so loosely filled her with an uneasy prickling, restlessness flaring in every muscle in her body. She could see Cinder still, wreathed in flames, her eyes gold and gleaming, and she had to blink to dispel the image. It had been like fighting hellfire with a pail of water, fingers of flame lashing out with savage fury.

Ozpin tried to look unaffected, even as one of his hands instinctively lifted to touch the brooch on his scarf. Glynda had seen him do that before, usually when he received bad news, and recognized his struggle to keep calm. She commended him for the effort.

Nevertheless, the news that the enemy might even be stronger than their danger ratings could encompass clearly disturbed him. Cinder Fall was already considered to be one of the most dangerous criminals alive, and briefly, Glynda wondered if they would need to create a brand new category of enemies just for her.

Nothing and no one had been able to keep up with Glynda before this. Confusion crossed Ozpin’s face and then vague fear, which he quickly smothered into a neutral façade before Ironwood could notice.

Glynda and Ironwood waited for him to speak. Ironwood because he knew he would be out of turn, and after Glynda’s unresolved challenge, he feared provoking her further. Glynda because it was polite, out of habit. In terms of power, she could outmatch both men without breaking a sweat. But Ozpin was still her boss, and more importantly, her friend, so she would keep her silence.

Outside, the remains of the CCT tower gave a last sputter of smoke, one final tongue of fire rising to the sky before relenting to the firefighters. In the flashing lights of the trucks, the tower stood at half its height, crumbling walls like grasping fingers reaching towards the sky. Little remained of the place where Glynda and Cinder Fall had clashed, and all of it was charred and broken, the mortar burnt away, the concrete ripped away.

“On the night of the dance, no less,” Ozpin said, seemingly to no one in particular, as if he read her mind.   

Glynda frowned, looking through the window to the dark edge of the forest. With every passing second, a feel like nails across her neck told her Cinder Fall was already gone, and failure churned her gut, unusual and uncomfortable.

“James is right,” Ozpin announced, the magnitude of her surprise snapping her back into focus. Ironwood’s mouth fell open, too used to clashing with Ozpin, but even he couldn’t find his voice as Ozpin continued, “We have to do something.”

“Sir…,” Glynda began, but hesitated. He didn’t surprise her very often, but when he did, it was usually for good reasons. Still, siding with Ironwood was unthinkable.

“Yes! If we could just get her coordinates, we could send –“

Ozpin shook his head, effectively silencing the general. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward in his seat, mouth slanted in something even Glynda couldn’t parse. “Even your legions wouldn’t stand a chance, if Glynda is correct in her assessment. Which, need I remind you – she has never been anything _but_. Keep your forces here, to protect Beacon from further possible attacks.”

It was Ironwood’s turn to hesitate. Ozpin had lost him, but Glynda had an ugly suspicion she knew where this was heading. She adjusted her glasses, frowning deeply, but even now, she didn’t want to believe Ozpin would...

“We can’t lose her trail,” Ironwood insisted.

“I know,” Ozpin agreed. He smiled, calm now, confident. “We’ll send the only person who has gone against Cinder and lived to tell the tale.”

Glynda refused to flinch as the general turned on her, looking as mortified as she felt.

“You’re sending _Glynda_ after her?” he asked, jerking back to Ozpin. “As if you don’t need her at Beacon, now more than ever? If anything, her role tonight only proves that she’s needed _here_.”

For once in her life, Glynda had to swallow the fact that she was agreeing with Ironwood. “With all due respect, Sir, I believe I’m best needed here as well.”

Instead of giving an answer right away, Ozpin turned his chair to look out the window. His hand trembled as he clutched his cane and rose shakily to his feet, his old injury threatening to topple him. Still, he stood tall, his shoulders broad, back straight. Taking a few steps toward the window, he stopped only when he could reach out to touch the glass.

Slowly and without turning, he asked, “General, how do you feel about throwing hundreds of men at a single enemy, and receiving nothing but death?”

“Unacceptable,” Ironwood answered immediately. “But a price to pay if victory is achieved--”

“And if it never is?”

Ironwood was silent. After a long pause, he relented. “You’re right, Ozpin.”

Ozpin glanced over his shoulder, and understanding, Ironwood nodded and spun, hesitating only long enough to cast Glynda one final look before marching from the office.

Alone, Glynda couldn’t help but stiffen. The exhaustion eating at her body didn’t stop her fists from clenching again. She wanted to find Cinder Fall, sure, it was all but burning through her entire body – but Ironwood was right, loathe as she was to admit it. She belonged here at Beacon. It had always been her post, always been her home. To leave it to ordinary soldiers made a cold sweat prickle between her shoulder blades.

If Ozpin gave the order she would follow it, but…

When she spoke, there was true pleading in her voice. “Sir, the school –”

“There may be more at stake than just this school if she goes free,” Ozpin said. “This is your mission. Hunt down Cinder Fall. I won’t tell you to kill her or to bring her back. I trust your discretion, Glynda. Do what you see fit, what you can.”

Glynda sharpened. It hadn’t been intended as a challenge, but his words still latched onto her pride like bristling burrs, digging in deep to draw blood. Of course she could catch her, could _kill_ her. Cinder Fall had gotten _lucky_. She was outside of Glynda’s reach now, but that wouldn’t last forever. Glynda was a huntress. She could hunt.

She had lost Cinder’s trail, for now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find it again. She would find it again. The acrid smell of cold smoke and burnt hair tore at her nose even now, and she knew finding the source was only a matter of following the stench. _Where there’s smoke, there’s fire_ , Glynda reasoned - and she would _gladly_ be the one to smother this particular flame.

Clenching her fists one more time, she closed her eyes. The wear from her clash with Cinder was a constant, dull ache in her. Her aura was restoring itself, bit by bit, no longer empty, but far from useful.

“When does my mission begin?” she asked, sounding the question out carefully.

Ozpin’s cane tapped against the floor as he turned to face her. “Will you be fit to leave by morning?” Ozpin replied. “If so…”

Glynda nodded, not needing to hear the rest. “Yes, Sir.”

She hadn’t had a mission in years, especially not one which took her from Beacon. Brambles grew within her stomach, thorny and constricting, but even so, a familiar stir of excitement persisted amongst the fear. Even if she had to leave the school to others, on her own, with patience and determination, she would track down the witch and put an end to her.

Glynda turned on her heel, but before she could reach the door, Ozpin’s voice bade her stop. Turning to meet his eyes one last time, Glynda found them weary, his smile faint.

“I have faith in you, Glynda” he said, his trembling fingers curling around his brooch. “You’ve never let me down.”

She nodded and then left to prepare.

*

The streetlights raced across dark window panes, a lone, black car zipping down abandoned streets, ash still clinging to its exterior.

Within, Cinder Fall shifted in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, her head tilted toward the pass of lights outside, the thick column of smoke reaching towards the stars just visible from the backseat. Roman drummed his fingers across the leather interior of the SUV next to her, and their driver, one of his boys, kept his eyes on the road, ripping down the roads in a bid to escape the city before the army could catch up with them.

By now, the distant whir of General Ironwood’s air fleet resembled the buzzing of gnats. It would be some time before they cleared the forests around Beacon and moved into the city, and by that time, Cinder would be gone, disappeared like smoke between the general’s clasping hands.

Empty air was better than burnt palms, but as certain as her escape, the general would not see it that way.

As if he knew it just as well, Roman fidgeted beside her, playing with the rim of his hat and running his fingers through his hair in turns until his scroll gave an electronic chime. He flicked it open, and briefly, Cinder saw Mercury’s name flash on the screen. Then Roman snapped it shut and tossed it between them, his lips pressed flat.

Shooting her a pointed look, he snapped, “You couldn’t have gone for something a little more subtle?” He leaned forward, rapping his fingers on the center console. “Move it, buddy. We’ve got ten minutes before this city’s crawling with every soldier and mech Ironwood can throw at us.”

The driver glanced over his shoulder and nodded, and as the car lurched forward, Roman fell back in his seat, digging through his pockets for a cigar.

“I hope your ‘ _need to know_ ’ mission was worth having a bullet with our names on it in every rifle from here to Signal. I don’t do jail, and I definitely don’t do military jail. Just for making me consider that possibility, I’m charging you double– _triple_.”

He pulled a cigar from his case and set it between his lips, but when he went for his lighter, he growled. “Dammit, did Emerald… Cinder, give me a light, will you? I’m going to skin her when we get back–”

Gold eyes needed only pass over the end to set it ablaze, and Roman stopped short, blowing out the flames. He cursed, shooting her another look, but pulled it back to his lips and took a long drag. Acrid smoke filled the SUV, making Cinder tense and prickle, and Roman’s gaze flickered up and down over her battle-worn suit, the statuesque still which carved her of angles and jagged edges.

Steam curled at her lips, her lungs like the soot-filled bellows of a forge, and in the pass of the streetlight, her nails flashed crimson as the blood drying across her flesh.

Exhaling a stream of smoke, Roman waved his cigar towards her, asking, “What’s stuck in your gums? You not get what you want?”

Perfectly even, she replied, “The mission was a complete success–more than that, even.”

“So? What’s the problem? Goodwitch tear you up that bad?”

Nails like claws dragged across her own flesh, making fists in her lap. Just the mention of her sent a thrill down her spine, something vacuous and ravenous settling deep in the pit of her stomach, a smouldering on a the edge of hunger, the heat of it making her suit glow softly. Glynda Goodwitch had exceeded all expectations, not simply meeting her in battle, but _pushing her back_ , the tower around them warping with the force of their collision.

Just the memory inspired a full-body tense, muscles prepared to dodge, deflect, destroy. She’d spent herself fighting heartbeat by heartbeat, the battle changing each second, forcing her to her limits just to keep up.

There were few who could make her sweat, even fewer who could make retreat appear attractive. Glynda Goodwitch had done both.

She’d felt the capacity for it in their first meeting, the untapped power taken human form, but now Cinder _knew_. There was no doubt, could be no doubt, not after getting so close, after tasting her magic with her flesh and blood. She’d suspected, when they’d first fought, but now…

Fire ignited through her veins, the vestiges of her tapped aura consuming what remained of her wounds in wisps of smoke, and Cinder bared her teeth in a beastly smile, eyes gleaming.

At the razor edges of her teeth, Roman looked away, wincing and taking another drag of his cigar. “ _Freaky_. Whatever. Just make sure you keep me out of it if you want to bark up that particular tree again. All the hazard pay in the world isn’t worth playing games with that witch.”

Cinder inclined her head, exhaling softly in what could have been a laugh. “There are two shipments leaving Vytal in two weeks. I need you there to oversee the operation.”

Scoffing, Roman said, “You want me babysitting? Don’t you have Emerald and Mercury for that? Or are you gonna ditch them now that you’ve got them nice and enrolled in Beacon? Might actually learn some manners…”

“They’ve got their own missions. I wouldn’t leave them at Beacon.”

Roman laughed, leaning across the seats and giving her a cutting smile. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you–”

“Beacon won’t be safe for very long,” she cut him off. Irritation flashed liked sudden combustion, and he wrinkled his nose, withdrawing. “I’ve just found the last piece I needed. From here, we’ll be moving very quickly.”

“Right, right. With _whatever_ you have planned.” He leaned back into his seat, pausing briefly to watch the city limits sign come and go. Only open road lay ahead of them, dark and endless, not a soldier in sight. He took another drag and offered, “Won’t miss that dump. Vale always had too many cops for my tastes.”

Cinder’s expression cooled, and she turned away, gold eyes boring into the darkness on the other side of the glass.

“Have you considered what I said?”

“About what? Oh, right I forgot. A safehouse for when your big plan finally kicks off?” Roman grunted, shrugging. “Thought about it.”

“Keep thinking. There will be casualties. I don’t know how extensive.”

He didn’t respond, but Cinder knew he’d heard her.

Silence descended between them, Roman sinking back into his seat, his head turned away, hand propping up his chin as he finished the last of his cigar. Regardless of whether he heeded her or not, there was no denying it wouldn’t be long now.

The components were all falling into place, piece by piece, bit by bit. A few weeks more, and they’d have everything they needed, and then it would be time for the final, crucial part of all of this. Turning back towards the darkened window, Cinder saw her reflection in the glass, a serpent’s smile curling her lips.

For now, there was still work to be done, but after tonight, Cinder knew acquiring the Witch would come–and soon.


	2. Chapter 2

It was tough, getting back into the swing of hunting after so long.

Theory swam through her head, old aches lingering in her sinew and bone, but years at Beacon had dulled her, made her react instead of preempt. It had been years since she hunted, since she sought, since she was more than a bastion, all defense. Fights always came to her. Even Cinder Fall - her hands made fists - but in order to finish that fight, she would first have to remember how to hunt.

She sat perched precariously on a rock in the Emerald Forest, her eyes closed as she tried to focus. Strapped to her lower back was a small bag, out of the way but well within her reach, and hidden from others by her cape. It contained scarce supplies: money, her weapon, her scroll, and a breakfast snack. Minor irritation prickled at her; keeping her weapon tucked away in a bag wasn’t her style, but now that she was on the move, she’d exchanged her heels for more suitable thick soled boots - at the cost of her usual sheath.

In any case, she would need pick up more lasting supplies at some point.  For now, she had chosen to prioritize her re-training.

All around her, the rustling leaves and screeching birds created a constant chaos of sound, one she struggled to parse. When she was on active duty, she could glean meaning from the snap of a twig, the sudden flight of birds. She could tell a Nevermore from a hunting hawk by the beat of its wings, even at a distance, but now, embarrassing as it was to admit, she was out of practice.  

Glynda drew long, deep breaths of the fresh air, giving her senses all the time they needed to adjust. As usual when she was outside the safety of Beacon, a vague discomfort lingered at the abstract limits of her senses, keeping her on guard.

There were Grimm in the woods. She knew that. She also knew they didn’t scare her.

The Creatures of Grimm had been a constant in her life, an inky black nip at her heels in every step she took. Though their ragged fur, oily feathers, bony plates, and sharp spikes repulsed most, Glynda felt indifferent. They were just like animals, rabid and snapping, in need of someone to put them down. No reason to feel anything, one way or another. Exterminating them was her job, and she was damn good at it.

Any Grimm that crossed her path had made a fatal error. She was not afraid, not disgusted, not invested - but ruthless, always ruthless.

She was starting to remember how to pick the different bird species of the forest apart by their pitch alone when far away, a twig snapped under the foot of an animal. Glynda considered it for a moment, but the rustling that followed wasn’t big enough for concern. At least it was coming back quickly.

Glynda was disproportionately startled when the bright chime of her scroll cut through her meditation. Leaning back on her heels for balance, she gave a deeply disapproving frown - the same kind capable of sending even seniors scurrying out of sight - and drew her scroll from her pack. She clicked her tongue at the sight of Ozpin’s name, but opened the message without hesitation.

_“Good morning.”_

That was all he had sent her. Glynda didn’t know whether to sigh or smile.

“Good morning,” she wrote back, wasting no time in tapping out her reply. “I knew you’d be in touch, but I haven’t even left the city borders yet.”

His response was almost immediate. _“Doctor Oobleck spoke with me. He sounded stressed. Was it necessary for you call on him to substitute all your classes?”_

“He’s sure to stay on top of the students. I don’t want them slacking in my absence.”

_“I was thinking we might just give the children free hours.”_

Glynda snorted. “They won’t make very good huntresses or hunters without combat experience.”

_“They’re hunters and huntresses, but they’re children too.”_

She might have expected his response. They’d had this conversation often enough after all. Relenting, she typed out a final response, if only to return to her own work: “Do with my curriculum what you will.”

Her scroll closed with a snap, and she tucked it away, returning to the task at hand. Ozpin would be satisfied with that for the time being, but it was no secret that some of her students considered her to be severe at best and cruel at worst.

But she wasn’t _cruel_. Merciless. Yes, she was merciless, and why shouldn’t she be?

It wasn’t that she felt no sympathy for her students – she simply knew what the world would expect from them later on. As fully qualified huntsmen and huntresses, they would be at humanity’s beck and call, and something as simple as _being tired_ wouldn’t stop an emergency from happening.

That was always her first lesson to a new class: in a real situation, no matter how tired or injured a hunter was, it should _never_ prevent them from serving humanity - or surviving. First-timers to her class always looked bored and weary as they shuffled into her late afternoon classes, expecting her to go easy on them.

Well. Within the first fifteen minutes of Glynda’s class, they learned better.

The upside to having her exhausting hands-on combat classes at the very end of the day was that the students could immediately head back to their dorms and beds afterwards. She sort of envied them that, while she was stuck in her office setting grades until the late hours of the night.

 _Merciless_. She supposed she owed them no less.

Glynda shook her head, trying to get her thoughts back on the right track. She had left her classes in the hands of the other now, for better or for worse.  

The sounds of the woods came back into focus, and she immediately noticed something different about it. She heard fewer birds. They were not all gone yet, but many of the voices had fled or quieted, the forest itself holding its breath. She heard a much larger rustle than before, the sound of a big animal moving.

Glynda slipped off her rock and onto the soft forest floor without a sound.

She drilled herself like she drilled her students. _What do you see?_ Nothing, yet. _What do you hear?_ A Grimm. _What do you feel?_ A Grimm. _Are you fit for combat?_ She smiled. _Yes, ma’am_ was the appropriate response, but there were always a few who tried to get away with saying no.

Her class was never about the actual art of tracking prey, but it dealt a lot with using all of one’s senses to control the flow of battle. _Now_ she was in her element.

Glynda smoothly crossed the clearing her rock sat in and pressed herself against one of the trees instead. A minute difference in volume told her she was closer. Hearing the snap of another twig, much larger and closer than the false alarm from earlier, she drew her crop out of her bag and disappeared into the dense brush.

Some would probably call her reckless. Her own students would probably look at their notes and frown. Glynda didn’t care. She broke away from her shelter and charged head-on into the unknown. She would not be hunted by some foul-smelling fungus. Weaving between the trees, she felt old knowledge resurfacing in her muscles, her pulse climbing steadily with excitement. The Grimm was a buzzing on the edge of her senses, and a sudden  prickling across her skin turned her in the right direction.

She saw it.

It was an Ursa, an average-sized specimen. It looked around with empty eyes, searching, sniffing, opening its mouth to taste the air, and she knew the beast sensed her. She would come right up on its flank on her current course, just out of position for a direct deadly strike.

It saw her. Glynda didn’t stop, running at the animal as it turned to face her, rearing back onto its thick back legs to tower above her. At the last second, she skidded to a turn, crossing in front of the Ursa. A simple gesture compelled the dirt and leaves at her feet to rise and fling itself into the Grimm’s eyes. It jerked back, giving a roar of pain – if it even had the capacity to feel pain – its open maw dripping slather, bone white teeth flashing in the afternoon sun.

The Grimm lashed out, blind, but she was faster. She usually was.

Glynda flicked her weapon with trained ease, hearing the brittle sound of bone snapping as she used her semblance to force the bear’s paw off its course. Not wasting time, Glynda leapt at the Grimm, the force of her own semblance beneath her feet propelling her up. As she jumped, several of the Grimm’s long spines lifted with her, tearing themselves right out of the beast’s back. The spines trembled in mid-air, then rotated around so that the points faced downward, all in the time it took for gravity to take hold of her again.

She landed on the Grimm, fingers gripping one long spine and driving it back down, her magic forcing the other five down as well. The Ursa roared again, a broken sound like splintering wood. The dark substance wounded Grimm gave off instead of blood oozed out in thick globs as the bear thrashed, impaled on its own spines. Glynda pushed them in until her knuckles pressed into the greasy, knotted fur, easy as pushing a sewing needle through cloth.

She would have to wash her hands after all of this was done.

Pinned down, the creature stopped struggling. It stopped being at all. She got off its back before it dissipated, watching from a few strides away. Before her eyes, the Grimm began to fade away, turning into crisp black smoke.

The stench hit her nostrils. Taking out the Grimm had not cost her anything but a few seconds of her time. The dissolving corpse smelled like rot, mildew, like dark corners of damp rooms. It smelled like smoke beneath it all, a faint sourness biting at her nose like the final protest of a dying campfire.

The scent lingered after a kill, sticking to the flesh; truly, the clean up was always the worst part about a hunt.

Wiping her hands on her skirt - she would need something new, of that she’d already decided - she looked up from the last traces of the Grimm, somewhat satisfied by the return of the birdsongs. Glynda tucked away her weapon. She was as rusty as she had feared. Nothing to do about that but train.

Her scroll cut through the forest noise again and she checked it. Ozpin again, telling her that all first and second years had been given free time in place of her class. Figured. He was, after all, the only one who had this number. She texted him back quickly and looked around.

This far away from civilization, she didn’t need her hunter’s senses to know there would be more Grimm about. Adjusting the strap of her bag, she set off, the sun creeping into the sky above her. There wouldn’t be time to clear out the entire forest if she still wanted to pick up Cinder Fall’s trail - perhaps after she’d caught the witch, she could return if she ever needed to let loose.

After all, it wouldn’t take much. Certainly not enough to truly _challenge_ her.

*

Even within the safety of human settlements, the night brought out terrors.

They stalked the streets, more beast than human, their eyes and hands full of malignment, begging for the chance to hurt, to harm.

Beneath a single, hanging streetlight, two shadows loomed just outside a tailor’s shop, their eyes dark and pitted. They resembled lounging cats, their hands loose and open at their sides, idle movements with a dagger and slip of silicon betraying their boredom. Even when rabble from the nearby bar wandered by, they barely looked at them, all too aware they were the most dangerous creatures on the prowl.

The night was their friend, the filthy, unpatrolled streets like a home to them, but even so, when Cinder turned onto the street, one of them straightened, prickling to attention.

Emerald’s dagger disappeared in a flash of steel, stowed away on her belt, and she turned to her companion, giving him a nudge with her foot without taking her eyes off Cinder’s approaching figure. From where she was, Cinder couldn’t hear what was said, but she could read lips well enough to understand: “Merc, get up. Cinder’s here.”

Sitting with his back to the door, Mercury’s head jerked up, his jaw set forcibly with neutrality, but at the sight of her, he rose as if untouched by gravity, all fluidity and unnatural grace.

Emerald met her halfway, leaving the warm haze of the streetlight and becoming sharper without its glow. Keen eyed and toothy, she fell into step beside Cinder, the exuberance ill-fitting for someone with such a crooked smile.

“We’ve got your chip, Cinder,” Emerald said. “Mercury’s been holding onto it.”

Their heels clicked in perfect unison despite Emerald’s longer legs, and Cinder hummed beneath her breath. “You didn’t have any trouble leaving Beacon?”

“They were so busy chasing you they didn’t bother to notice the two newbies going missing,” Mercury said, shrugging. He danced the silicon over his knuckles, eyes flickering up from its path to look at Cinder. “They might notice in a week or two. Doubt you’ll be able to sneak us in there again.”

The old bulb buzzed above them, its glow warm on Cinder’s skin. A twist of her wrist revealed an ancient key of polished brass, and without missing a beat, she turned towards the door to the tailor’s shop and unlocked it with a click. Emerald and Mercury didn’t need to be told to follow when she stepped inside the darkened shop, filling the shadows like nightmares.

And then the lights inside flickered on, and it was just the three of them in a dusty, cramped shop.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cinder said, squinting against the light as Mercury shut the door behind them. Sheaths of fabric and a long counter with a rusted cutting board at its end greeted her, same as the last time she’d been here. “The next time I return to Beacon, stealth isn’t on the agenda. Mercury, you have something for me?”

She rounded the counter, finding the old, spinning stool on the other side. Age filled the air, and the chair creaked and groaned as she lowered onto it, but Cinder only had eyes for Mercury.

Tall and lanky, he was more enforced apathy than substance, his shoulders rolling constantly, eyes sweeping over abandoned sewing machines and a rack of half-finished projects crowded into the tiny room with something like distaste. He’d never liked the little shops she kept around Vale. He’d never liked quaint.

Still, for Cinder, he offered her the prize without games, without puzzles, his palm open, eyes trained on the silicon chip as she plucked it from his hand. “Got your backdoor all set up, and the files you downloaded are all on this. You wanna access the transit system world-wide, just plug this into any scroll. Provided they don’t find my handiwork.”

“They won’t.” Cinder said it without hesitation, retrieving her scroll. “You’re very thorough.”

Despite appearances, Mercury didn’t shrug off her words, floundering with them before managing to cant his head away, his lips pulling at the edges in a restrained smile. Emerald shot him a look, but before he could respond with a withering scowl, she turned back on Cinder, leaning forward on the counter to get a better look at her scroll. “Did you get everything you needed?”

Cinder nodded, not glancing up. Her scroll chimed when she inserted the chip, whirring with the strain of processing the data.

“Might take a while,” Mercury said, propping himself up on his elbows next to Emerald. He was quick on his feet, always, and he’d already recovered his veneer of cool, calm, and uninterested. “Sit back, grab a snack. Maybe shower or something. You could use it.”

Emerald’s expression narrowed, her fingers drumming atop the countertop. “Maybe shut up, Mercury.”

One side of Cinder’s mouth quirked. “I ran into some Grimm on the way here.”

“Our airship is still in the port if you need it,” Emerald offered. “It would be easier than moving by ground.”

“Airships don’t leave much room for mistakes. The ground is surer. And anyway, Grimm are no trouble to me.” She smiled faintly, setting her scroll down on the counter between them. It buzzed and clicked, chugging through Mercury’s codes to give her what she wanted, but for the time being, she had more in mind for the two of them. “Besides, you’ll need the airship. I’m sending you both south.”

Mercury’s mouth slanted. “Another mission?”

Making a face, Emerald asked, “Roman isn’t going to be there, is he?”

Tapping her nail on the dusty wood, Cinder leaned forward, eyes trained solely on Emerald. “No, not this time. He’s going to be busy with conducting business for me in Vytal. Do you have his lighter?”

Quick as a snake, Emerald presented the silver zippo, plucking it from thin air. Those nimble fingers had earned her a reputation through the slums of Vacuo before Cinder picked her up, observing something like potential in those slitted eyes. She’d shot up like a weed, flourishing in the sun, and now she stood before Cinder, snapping open the lighter and cradling its flame like something precious.

Even Mercury didn’t brush it off, grey eyes trained on the flame. Back then, he’d been less than the slip of a boy, gaunt from hunger and one too many lessons in cruelty, craving more than just his next meal and a roof to house him. She’d given him a chance, an opportunity, and he kept to her back, a blade pointed toward her enemies.

Cinder sighed, kindred flame pulling her gaze, and leaning forward, she curled her fingers around the zippo, the heat of the fire sinking into her flesh, and flicked it closed with a resounding crack.

“Hold onto the lighter,” she said finally, withdrawing across the counter.

The spell shattered, and Mercury looked away, boredom cooling his expression once again. Emerald smiled faintly, dancing the lighter back into her pocket, but she kept her eyes steady with Cinder’s, waiting, patient.

“There are coordinates on your scrolls,” Cinder began. “A location to the south, an island off the coast of the continent. I need the two of you to find it and secure it.”

“Who are we taking it from?” Emerald asked.

“No one. It’s mine.” Cinder’s polished tone betrayed nothing, and the two of them arched a brow in perfect unison. “Things will be starting very soon. I’ve already finished with Dust -there are a few more components, and then we’ll begin. There are things there, assets I want protected.

“I can’t trust them to anyone else.”

Emerald’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t smile. “How long?”

Cinder folded her hands in her lap, her response perfectly even, “Uncertain, as of now. However long I deem it necessary before we can regroup.”

A beat passed, but instead of acceptance, Cinder observed the same flash of cold calculation in their eyes. Mercury’s scroll appeared in his hands, his frown stiff, but before he could even pull up the information, Emerald’s face screwed up, stricken by apprehension. “So we’re just… Waiting there?”

Mercury’s stare flickered up from the map on his screen, an accusatory edge to his voice. “You’re sticking us away in the middle of nowhere. This place doesn’t even officially exist on the map.”

“None of my private facilities exist, Mercury. That’s the point -”

“Sounds more to me like you’re dumping us -”

“ _Mercury_ ,” Emerald hissed, fixing him with a vicious, threatening look, one that betrayed all her fear. “Shut up. She’s not _dumping us_ -”

“I know a lame duck mission when I hear one, and so do you, Emerald. Things are wrapping up, and now she wants us out of the picture.” He turned on Cinder, demanding, “What are we supposed to be guarding out there? What assets?”

Fidgeting, Emerald glanced between the two of them, Cinder’s placid expression and Mercury’s white knuckled grip on his scroll. Something dire settled in her, gnawing at the edges until she resembled a child more than a viper. They were both children, abandonment held close at the end of a wick, ready to combust at any moment and set the life they’d built from the gutters up in flames.

Before Cinder could answer Mercury’s rising temper, Emerald’s creeping doubts, her scroll chirped all at once, the screen lighting up and projecting into the tense space between the three of them.

Documents with whole sections blackened in redaction popped up before them, hundreds of them racing into the projection field faster than the eye could follow, whole novels worths of pages stacked atop one. They appeared with the sound of a turning page, like flipping through ancient tomes, leather bound and massive, and at the top of each page, in thick, bold print, read the words:

**_HILL OF ROSES MASSACRE._ **

The whirlwind of sound came so a sudden halt with a final page, the lines smeared and crooked, a blueprint from the time before scrolls, hastily copied into systems to be preserved, if never to see the light of day again.

Mercury blanched, Emerald steeled, and Cinder swallowed.

Emerald found her voice first. “What is _that_?”

She hadn’t expected it to look like that, all spikes and iron clamps, primitive aura suppressants on each manacle detailed with scrawled notes. Curved spines like ribs formed a cage, a precaution, written and underlined off to the side, an addendum beneath it which informed that electrical currents could be applied through the ribs in case of resistance.

“Hill of Roses? What -”

“It was before your time.” Cinder didn’t waste time letting Mercury finish. She rose from her seat, searing the image of the device into her mind and snatching the scroll from the counter, closing out of the projection and stowing it away. “Before the war.”

“And that _thing_?” Mercury demanded, twice as furious for having been interrupted.

“The penultimate step.” Glancing between them, she pursed her lips. “Put it out of your mind. You have another mission. To the south.”

Mercury’s jaw hung open, his hands clenched into fists, and even Emerald grit her teeth, slapping her palm on the countertop. Frustration bubbled up in her throat as a growl, and she insisted, “You can’t expect us to -”

“I expect you to _obey_ ,” Cinder snapped, turning from them, cutting the conversation short with a look devoid of warmth. “I expect you both to go into the back, pick out a bed, and depart from here first thing in the morning. When you get arrive, you have free reign of the property, provided you don’t stray.”

Jaws taut from all the words trapped just behind their teeth, they watched as Cinder rounded the counter, pausing before them to look them both in the eyes.

“What have I always taught you to do?”

The two of them bristled in unison, but the responses came without hesitation: “Survive.”

“Don’t disappoint me, Emerald, Mercury.”

As her lips curled around their names, she passed over each of them in turn. And then she slipped between them, dropping the key to the shop by the counter by the door. Only when the shape of her lingered in the doorway did she pause, not looking back.

“I’ll see you when I can.”

And then she stepped out into the night, the door slamming shut behind her.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Clouds painted the sky a rolling grey, darker blots on the horizon, promising a storm to come.

The air hung heavy with it, the scents of the city wet and dense, but even so, Glynda knew Cinder had already moved on. She’d followed the acrid smoke all the way from Beacon to this waypoint on the edge of Forever Fall Forest, but even with the sightings of a woman matching Cinder’s description creeping through the darkest parts of the city, Glynda planned to stay only long enough to purchase supplies.

Abandoning the seedier parts of town, the slanted glances that lingered over her cape, her crop, the dark splotches of offal staining her dress, she found a strip of stores, watchful of the weather. If she wanted to keep the trail before the rain washed it away, she needed to move fast.

Her clothes were the first to go, spattered with Grimm blood and ripped from her forays through the Emerald Forest. The shopkeeper grimaced at the sight of her, fresh from the kill with purpose in her eyes, but she still helped Glynda find something more suitable for the coming days.

Beacon had been a soft deployment where her biggest threats were food fights taken too far. For a mission like this, Glynda swapped out her stained skirt for a pair of dark trousers and traded the thin blouse of her station for something more durable, if not similar. Her cape would stay, as well as the sturdy boots and convenient pack at the small of her back, but at her request, the shopkeeper outfitted her with a sheath for her crop, and she strapped it around her thigh for easy access.

After that, it was only a matter of finding a few supplies.

As she moved through the aisles of a hunter’s supply station, people gave her a wider berth than before. There may not have been a uniform for on duty huntresses since the pre-wartime era, but that didn’t mean civilians couldn’t recognize the determined, focused look of someone on the hunt.

Glynda fielded texts from Ozpin as she picked up the essentials - a knife, a flint, a waterproof poncho, and a canteen with a water purification system - telling him where she planned to go from here.

“Forever Fall Forest,” she typed out, paying for the gear with her card and tucking it snugly into the satchel at the small of her back. “I’m going to be busy for a while.”

All he said was: “ _Be safe, Glynda._ ”

Perhaps he sensed the prickling anticipation crawling over her skin, the sensation of lightning right before it struck, a crackle which left her dry-mouthed and cut of blade-sharp angles. Perhaps he knew how she ached to leave the city behind, feel the sodden, rotten leaves beneath her feet.

It had flourished in her since she’d put the groves of the Emerald Forest behind her. Her senses sharpened to a fine point, hearing, sight, taste, touch - and _smell_. She stood tall, indomitable, but every fiber of her yearned to hunch, to hunt. Predators kept to the places with prey, and there was nothing for her in cities or towns.

But looking out past the towering buildings, Glynda observed the crimson tops of Forever Fall, and her pulse leapt, humming through her as she rolled up the sleeves on her shirt to just above the elbow. Every step brought her closer, and the closer she got, the more she was sure she was on the right track.

Giving a final glance up at the sky, Glynda let her fingers trace the supple wood of her crop. The clouds above her gave a low rumble, and as if in response, she gave a little smile.

The rain could not hide Cinder Fall from her.

*

Forever Fall Forest creaked and whistled with the coming storm, the branches swaying and scattering red leaves across the forest floor, and stalking among the maples, Glynda kept her eyes trained on the ground. The tracks hadn’t taken long to find; there were few people who left the safety of the city for the forest right before a storm, and even fewer of them wore _heels_.

Glynda had to focus to keep her footing, the curl of unearthed roots reaching to trip her, but the tracks she found never stumbled, leading her deep into the forest, their path steady, set.

It occurred to her that all of this was rather strange, that Remnant’s most notorious criminal would set out this way - on foot and _alone_.

She had to have airships, cars, perhaps even one of the many train lines which cut through the forest. What was the gain in travelling the Grimm infested lands between civilization by foot?

Glancing at the sky, which had yet to truly open, Glynda paused by one of the thick-trunked maples, running her hand over the rough bark. The drizzle set a chill in the air, pattered against the leaves and sent animals into their hovels for shelter, but it hadn’t soaked the trees through yet.

Which meant they were nothing but kindling, the forest a powder keg ready to ignite.

 _Alone_ , Glynda thought, stilling and looking around.

Glynda didn’t doubt herself. She could read the forest as well as anyone, _better_ even. Cinder was alone - unless she was meeting someone.

 _An ambush?_ She’d been careful in her tailing, taking her time in the Emerald Forest to hone her skills and allow her prey to grow complacent, secure. This was the closest she’d gotten to her since their explosive fight in Beacon, but even so...

 _Let her build a pyre_ , Glynda thought stubbornly, setting off once more. _She wouldn’t be the first to try to burn me._

Ozpin’s words played through her head again, every bit the challenge he didn’t intend. Ambush or no, she’d still match Cinder Fall.

Every gust of wind made crimson dance at the edge of her vision, her body tense, eyes flickering between the swaying branches. She could feel Cinder’s proximity like a hot prickle across the nape of her neck, the chase roaring through her veins. Soon it would be time to take her by the throat with her teeth, find the one-two pound of her pulse, and _tear_ until her life spilled down that lithe body.

Above her, the sky crackled with thunder, a far off flash heralding heavier rain drops, but Glynda barely noticed. She was attuned to the shifting woods, they way they moved around her, the way they concealed her target. A faint tingle travelled down her arms to the tips of her fingers.

The stench of smoke hit her nose at the same time the tracks changed, the distinctive sharp end of a high heel abandoned. Cinder was going barefoot, and the edges of the leaves caught beneath her tread blackened, singed and smoldering.

Glynda paused only a moment before she felt herself smile.

So she knew.

That made things easier. Tugging at her cloak, she broke into a sprint, doggedly following the trail as it cut between trees and wound through the forest, over a set of railroad tracks and down through a shallow ravine until finally, _finally_ Glynda saw her, the woods opening around her in a clearing.

Glynda had expected a serpent, wound in on itself, prepared to strike. Glynda expected hellfire, licking at the wet grass, the ash drying out her eyes, sticking to her glasses. She expected prey, cornered and alone and utterly desperate.

At the center of a clearing, Cinder Fall sat waiting for her, one leg thrown over the other, posed atop a rock like a lounging cat, her nails drumming across the stone. She didn’t flinch as Glynda burst from the brush, but she did straighten somewhat, leaning forward with abrupt interest. Inky black hair clung to her thin neck, but the rain didn’t touch her skin, steam rising in the air around her.

Thunder rolled above them, the steady pelt of rain filling the silence between them, and Cinder’s eyes gleamed gold with delight.

“ _You’re_ no lamb,” Cinder said, raising her voice just enough so Glynda could hear every word, her flesh prickling at the sound, muscles tense and ready. Cinder was the opposite, languid and slow-moving, sliding over the edge of her perch to land lightly on the ground, barefoot still. Glancing sideways, Glynda found her shoes by her own feet, a final invitation to whatever unwitting fool she must have thought had been tailing her. “I didn’t realize Ironwood had wolves under his thumb as well. I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon, Glynda.”

No one had told Cinder she was the one being hunted, and for a split-second, Glynda was soft and battle-shy, facing down her first Grimm.

Glynda swallowed. And then she laughed.

Her first Grimm had died thrashing, the kill messy, the final blow spilling blood across her and her teammates. She’d learned, watching the Grimm dissolve with unsettling fascination, that fear was something foreign to her, a parasite feeding on what the other cadets had told her about creatures that would open her gut to gullet. She cut it away, precise as a surgeon, and found the truth she should have known all along: that monsters ought fear _her_ , fear what she could do to them.

Cinder Fall had yet to learn that lesson, but Glynda was a teacher, merciless in her efficiency, and she would instruct her - thoroughly - until every broken bone and bruised inch of her ached with the knowledge.

Though she stood still as a statue, her hands empty, the enemy exuded confidence. Glynda raised her weapon and saw Cinder’s eyes sharpen, but she still did not move. Not even a tremble ran through her limbs, yet she was filled to the brim with single-minded intent, like a bowstring pulled taut and ready to fire.

“You’ve caught me at an inopportune time… If you’re here to finish things, I’m afraid we might not have the chance.” Cinder tilted her head, her teeth flashing white as lightning sundered the clouds above them, slick hair whipping like tendrils in the wind. “Has the General taken your tongue as well as your dignity? Leashed and collared by the likes of him… I can almost imagine what torture that must be.”

 _Goading_ , Glynda thought, deadly calm even as the tempest kicked up leaves in the gulf between them. _What’s her game?_

Without preamble, Glynda gave a wide sweep of her crop, raising the very forest around her, fallen branches and rocks from the ground turned their sharpest angles on Cinder.

There was no blaze of fire, no explosive counter. In an instant, Cinder sharpened and moved, smooth and silent – as if her body was liquid instead of flesh. She dodged with a grace that seemed inhuman and untouchable, darting towards Glynda and batting aside her assault with small flashes of Aura in her palms.

The memory of white-hot plumes of flames was physical, and Glynda set her jaw, intent to keep away from whatever counterattack broiled in Cinder’s open palms.

Flames belched, hissing and popping beneath the rain’s insistence, and Glynda narrowly dodged them, the heat on her face a warning. She drew back, wanting to put distance between them again, but the witch gave chase, hounding her at every turn.  

At Beacon, they’d traded blows at a distance, capitalizing on the raw power they each possessed, but now, not even Glynda’s whip-snap volleys of debris could deter Cinder.

Her eyes burned with the power of her aura, nails sharp as her smile as she forced Glynda back. Laughter ripped from her throat, and she snarled, “Anything else?”

Glynda caught a searing blow with her arm, a flash of purple Aura shielding her from a broken bone, but Cinder wouldn’t let her stop, wouldn’t let her think, smoke filling her nose and mouth and lungs.

Moving human beings with her Semblance wasn’t an easy feat, but planting her feet, Glynda managed to push Cinder back, her bare feet skidding through the mud as she struggled to stay upright. But even this reprieve was short lived, Cinder’s body shifting like mercury as she hurtled back at Glynda.

Before she could reach her, the rock Cinder had been perched on tore away from the earth and hurled itself at her. Ugly surprise flashed across Cinder’s face, and her hands exploded with aura and flame. It should have shattered the rock, giving Glynda a million edged shards to skewer her between, but instead, Cinder’s assault withered against it. Teeth snapping together, she barely twisted away, the boulder crashing into the ground, tearing up the earth, and finally crashing through the edge of the grove.

Glynda took the splintered wood as her weapon instead, squinting through the pelting rain. Jagged pieces of timber gathered into the shape of a spear, and Cinder, just righting herself, cursed and leapt aside, fireballs collecting at her fingertips.

Cinder launched one after another, shattering the face end of the spear over and over again, untouchable, and Glynda, realizing the uselessness of it all, flung all the pieces at once, releasing them from her hold.

Without her power behind them, they merely battered Cinder’s aura shield, and again, Cinder came after her, closing in quickly.

Glynda brow pinched, eyes narrowing behind her spectacles. Neither the fight on the bulkhead nor the struggle which razed the CCT had been close-ranged, so why was Cinder so insistent on it now?

The steam pouring off Cinder’s flesh flared hot against Glynda’s face as she tried – yet again – to pull back and gain range. Gold bubbled like molten ichor in Cinder’s gaze, her breath short as she snapped, “Hunting me down just to run away? This isn’t worth my time!”

Fire wreathed another clawed strike, and the clash of aura against aura sang in her bones, making Glynda grit her teeth and dig her heels in. An assault like that would break both of them faster than normal, and Glynda knew it.

It was sloppy. It was reckless. It was _desperate_.

Glynda caught the next blow on her arm, felt the sting of flame on bare skin even through her aura, and for one brief second, Cinder seemed to stall.

Snapping her crop into its sheath, she kicked at Cinder’s shin, dragging her thick-soled heel down to her ankle, and pain bunched Cinder’s expression, every inch of her tensing up.

It happened in a flash, almost too quick to see. Cinder smiled a grimace of a smile, pleasure radiating off her, right before Glynda’s elbow soared through the empty air where her face used to be. With a twist, Cinder’s bloody calve found Glynda’s ribs, and all the air rushed out of her lungs in one painful wheeze.

But before she could withdraw, Glynda caught her leg, slick with blood and rain - _rain_?

Glynda’s hesitation was punished with the slam of an elbow, her collarbone certain to bruise with the force of it, and Cinder slid free, water between her fingers.

 _Water_ \- not fire.

At once, a smile broke out across Glynda’s face, and upon seeing it, Cinder’s expression darkened, the rain running down her face all the confirmation Glynda needed. Looking up at the clouds above them, Glynda nearly laughed. Rain - no wonder she was seeing less and less of Cinder’s usual flair, no columns of hellfire or explosions that rattled her bones.

She could probably barely keep the flames alive even when they bloomed from her skin. Glynda would be lying if she said she wasn’t gloating.

Not that it rendered her weak – Cinder may have been muzzled by the rain, but she still had claws, and Glynda wasn’t about to forget that.

Cinder shot across the carpet of soggy, red leaves, her movements smooth and calculated even without her augmented flames. Glynda knocked away her first strike, and before she could lash out with another, Glynda’s other hand shot up and closed on her hair, pulling her in for a vicious headbutt.

She never got that far.

Fist tangled in raven-black hair, she paused at the faint tug of her earring, alarm bells going off in her head, the slinking, satisfied grin on Cinder’s face growing as her entire body relaxed in Glynda’s unkind hold.

All save for the hand wrapped around her earring.

“That’s interesting,” Cinder said, as Glynda’s hand shifted to close around the hand that held her jewelry. A warning, maybe, or holding her in place to assure no harm. Even Glynda wasn’t sure, but Cinder’s voice was smooth as silk. “You’re still wearing these.”

Glynda said nothing, feeling another small tug on her ear as Cinder turned the jewelry in her fingers, examining it.

“Once you decided to go close-range, you immediately focused on my hair. Of course, since you teach combat, that’s not very surprising, is it?” The glint of gold in Cinder’s eyes was wicked, but almost mischievous at the same time, brimming with something like a challenge.  “I assume you teach all of your students not to wear loose, long hair or dangling jewelry, don’t you?”

The poison edge in her voice was tangible, but Cinder was forgetting one important distinction: the students might care, but Glynda didn’t.

Glynda released both Cinder’s hair and her hand, but did not give Cinder even a second to react before a thick-soled boot slammed into her midsection. The kick sent Cinder rolling, a glint of green-blue jewelry following her, specks of blood hanging in the air. Cinder, scuffed up and startled, stared up at Glynda from the forest floor, struggling to push herself up. Glynda’s boot cut off her attempt, falling heavy upon her chest, holding her in place.

“Yes,” Glynda said, speaking for the first time since they’d begun. “That’s right, Cinder. It’s one of my first lessons.”

A thick, warm trail of blood ran down Glynda’s cheek and neck. Her earring had landed on the ground near Cinder’s head, the still-attached backing coated in blood. Pain flared now, shooting through her ear. It would be distracting, if Glynda was the type of huntress who was distracted by pain. She stared down, the rain cascading down over both of them, and in a rush of triumph and throbbing pain both, _smiled_.

“I also teach them to never drop their guard for witty banter,” Glynda said, and Cinder’s surprise melted into a crooked smile, knowing she was caught red-handed. For once, Cinder was the one who didn’t say anything. Glynda could clearly see the fire in Cinder’s eyes, the excitement that suddenly flared, untouched by the dampening effects of the rain.

She knew the look, knew the bone-deep fascination, the urge to break and disassemble until nothing remained but the basest components. Cinder wanted the puzzles in her blood, the secrets in the cavity of her ribcage, bone-thin and gaunt from her hunger.

She would have to starve, Glynda decided, hunched over her like an animal, her fingers finding the slender handle of her crop at her thigh. She would have to starve as Glynda starved, the bodies she wanted to dissect dissolving into black smoke no matter how she carved them up.

Pulling her crop from its sheath at the same time Cinder lashed out, Glynda turned away the thin string of flames before they blinded her, but she couldn’t stop the brutal blow to her ankle - or the crunch which followed. Staggering, Cinder rolled out from under her, finally claiming space, but Glynda merely sneered, her aura rushing to repair the damage.

“I hadn’t dared hope you’d be such a monster,” Cinder said.

“Funny, I knew you were all talk.”

Cinder’s face contorted, caught between fury and delight. “You're breaking all your own rules for me. I'm flattered.”

The flicker of gold over her ankle was her only warning, Glynda’s body braced for impact, for the beating Cinder promised with her eyes, but the whistle that tore through the air as effectively as thunder froze them both. Glynda looked up, a pillar of smoke appearing over the tops of the trees behind Cinder.

The train.

Cinder followed her gaze, grinning wickedly when she looked back.

She didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate. Cinder turned on her heel and ran, passing the pair of heels left neatly by the edge of the woods, stooping to snag them as she went. Glynda was no more than a breath behind her, damp and smoke filling her nose as she closed in, refusing to let her escape - again.

Quick as a snake and sure as a panther, Cinder leapt over roots and deftly avoided the low hanging branches which tore at Glynda’s face. She knew the woods intimately, knew them like Glynda knew the chase - and where Glynda stumbled and fought for proper footing - especially on her mending ankle - Cinder seemed to meld into the woods, her red dress the same shade as the maples’ leaves.

She lost sight of her, but not the scent of her, haunting her every step even as Cinder stole precious seconds until finally she broke through the last of the trees, a clearing laid out before her.

A train charged by, sucking the wind around it like a whirlwind, the Schnee logo blazing by in flashes of white.

Cinder didn’t slow, running for the train, and Glynda dogged her across the clearing, crop clutched tight in her hand. The caboose rushed up to meet them, the train giving another whistle, and Cinder jumped, catching the guard rail around the back, her dress and hair whipping as the train sped by.

Glynda skidded to a halt, whipping her crop towards the train, resolving to claw Cinder back down from the train.

The train itself shuddered, then the track beneath it, and Cinder craned her head, slits of gold the only visible part of her. As the train cleared the shaking track pieces, metal screamed and tore away from the bolts that kept it down. The track broke, curled back on itself, shredding the earth around it.

Cinder Fall, hanging on, her shoes still clutched in her off hand, shuddered with the car, but found her footing and managed to stay on. At the same moment Glynda stepped forward in the beginnings of pursuit, Cinder grinned, fanged teeth flashing as brightly as her glowing eyes.

She couldn’t catch her now. Not on foot. Not with her ankle, throbbing in her boot.

Glynda watched as the train carried her prey away, until the distance and rain obscured her from sight, her jaw clenching, the hum of failure quaking through her bones - _again_.

She had gotten away, slipped between Glynda’s fingers like smoke. The prickling in her skin faded to a quiet buzzing, but Glynda knew it would only be a matter of time. She would find her again, follow her trail across the continent if she had to; Cinder Fall could _not_ escape her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing art for this chapter by KIBITZER [here](http://rontra.tumblr.com/post/132432904464)!


	4. Chapter 4

The boiler’s glow adorned her skin in crimson, aura swelling like a well fed-flame, crackling with snaps of gold and amber. Cinder lounged close to the black iron grill, the boiler’s body bloated like the molten core of a volcano, the belching dust-born flame casting long shadows through the darkened train car. Her legs stretched out to better drink in the sweltering heat, head propped up on her palm, languid as a sunning serpent and twice as lethal.

The aches of her bout with Glynda Goodwitch still lingered deep in her bones, but like a phoenix, she found rebirth in the flames, the embers in her marrow stoked to crackling. Sighing and tilting her head back to expose the sloping column of her throat to the great furnace, she slid her fingers absently along the aura suppressants before her, nails tapping over the crest carved into their crux, something like humor touching her lips.

Replaying the fight was as easy as closing her eyes, every impact echoing through her bruised ribs, her sore limbs. She could still feel Glynda’s boot upon her sternum with every inhale, lungs burning like they were full of soot, that cold, edged stare boring into her from above, mocking, assured.

Alabaster Schnee boasted the best suppressant technology on this side of Remnant, but at this point, Cinder wasn’t sure if even they would be enough to truly contain Glynda Goodwitch.

A thrill shot up her spine at the thought, only dampened by the distracting screech of gears trying to move, sparking at the joints of the train car’s automaton guards. Cinder glanced over her shoulder at the husks, metal shorn from their bodies, singed black at each melted edge.

Neither snake nor phoenix, then. The sort of calamity which trailed in her wake was better suited to a dragon, ichorous magma in her veins, death adorning the edges of her claws, her fangs, her tall, sloping horns.

The Schnee corporation was lucky she had no designs on the main cargo; a haul of this size would have fetched a small fortune. When this shipment arrived at its destination, there would be no shortage of raised brows; destroyed guardians but nothing missing save aura suppressants meant to restrain potential thieves? She ran her fingers along the bulky, overly reflective cuffs once more, her flesh tingling at just this brief contact.

She turned back to face the flames, the ancient, blood-wrought magic etched into her flesh in intricate patterns growing hotter in response, an approving hum rumbling in her throat. With each passing moment, they wove the heat of the fire into raw power, her flesh singing with it. The average person might have spent hours regaining their strength after an encounter with Glynda - by her estimate, it had barely taken a full turn of the clock.

Almost as if on cue, her scroll chimed, and her eyes snapped open to form slits. Set aside near her shoes, its screen flashed blue. Emerald’s name appeared in thin black font, and Cinder nearly sighed, stifling the urge to ignore it for just another moment to bask in the broiling heat of a well-kept flame.

Sinuous and slow-moving, she rose at last, pulling herself off the sheet she’d borrowed from one of the crates and thrown down to offer some barrier between herself and the floor. More than a few of her joints and bruises resisted the movement, but with her aura brimming like an overfull chalice, she knew the pain would fade soon enough.

Hesitating over the flash of jade resting atop her scroll, Cinder ran her fingers over it with care, the corner of her mouth quirking in a slanted smirk. Glynda had parted with her earring so easily - a bit of a trophy from surviving another round with someone like her was well-deserved. Rolling it between her fingers, she felt her flesh prickle with heat, her markings flame-touched.

Finally, she opened her scroll with a touch, and Emerald’s messages popped up immediately: “ _We just boarded the airship. We’re departing in half an hour._ ”

It was approaching dusk; why hadn’t they already departed? Frowning enough to put a wrinkle in her brow, Cinder typed out, “Did you run into trouble?”

With a final look at the boiler, Cinder turned away, scooping up her shoes and the aura suppressants by the flames. She struggled to carry them both under one arm with the weight of the cuffs, the earring still stubbornly clutched in one hand.It was past time for her to be going as well - at this rate, the train would carry her all the way to Vacuo, far beyond her next stop.

Besides, she still needed to send off an update, her rendezvous in the forest interrupted, and there would be no way to do that once she was as far as Vacuo. Perhaps if it had been someone else in the forest, some other pawn to crucify in the streets for Ironwood to find, she might have managed better, but then, Glynda’s appearance was a boon of its own.

When she stepped over the scrap metal remains of the car’s guardians to yank open the door, her scrolled chimed again, and she checked it as she stepped out onto the narrow catwalk between this car and the next.

“ _We weren’t sure if you were coming,_ ” it read, and Cinder sighed, steadying herself against the train’s sway on the guard-rail. It did nothing to stop the lurch of guilt in her gut.

Seeing the two of them off when business required they go separate ways was nothing short of a tradition for her, and breaking it now was sure to feed their doubts. Perhaps she would have finished and returned in time to see them go had she not been interrupted, but some small part of her dreaded Emerald’s searching looks, Mercury’s potent avoidance. The night before had left her restless and itching, charcoal lining her teeth and tongue, and another round of that would have given her permanent lines of exhaustion at the corners of her mouth.

Trying to turn away from the howling wind, she glanced up at the scenery as it raced by, her hair snapping in her face. Brown and yellow speckled with the rarest blur of red - they were already far beyond Forever Fall Forest then.

Cinder’s lips thinned, but she stayed put just long enough to send off a response, writing out, “There was a change of plans. Continue as instructed and update me when you arrive.”

Then she turned to face the rail completely, hoisting one foot up onto the bar before leaping, aura surging through her legs to help her make the jump and clear the train. Among the wilted grass and yellowed bushes, she landed with the unnatural grace of a cat, the train screaming by without her, the whirlwind of its passing kicking up dust and catching her dress and hair.

Dropping her things by her side - all save the earring, which she held before her face and examined as if she hadn’t already traced every inch with her fingers - and with a final thought, finished her text with: “I trust you both to arrive there in one piece.”

The train’s caboose passed with a wail, and Cinder closed her fist around the earring again, holding it by her hip as she craned her head up, finding only the sparsest cloud cover, the sky a dusky grey set against a tired orange, the sunset bleeding on the horizon behind her. In the other direction, Forever Fall Forest was too far to be seen from this distance, but the dark sky to her east marked it as effectively as a beacon.

Perhaps she wasn’t as far from her next destination as she’d first thought.

Her scroll chimed again, Emerald’s name popping up on the screen, and Cinder read her message absently as she slipped into her shoes at last. _“A change in plans?”_

Smiling faintly, she returned, “General Ironwood has honored our recent work by assigning Glynda Goodwitch to pursue me.”

There was no small amount of pride in that. That they feared her enough to apply their most effective weapon against her tasted of ambrosia, the sweetest wine and all the victory in the world. More, that she matched Glynda, even knowing her potential… Cinder’s flesh flared hot for half a second, imaging the things which would be whispered about her now.

In the absence of an immediate response, Cinder turned back from whence she’d come, the open fields stretching out around her for miles, only disturbed by the rare, reaching spindles of a bare tree. If she was right, her intended destination was close enough that she’d find her way there before nightfall.

Glynda, on the other hand, wouldn’t find her way there until midnight at the earliest, and that was only if she hurried.

Smothering a wicked smile at the thought, she followed the train tracks, watchful for a landmark which might point her in the right direction.

Before she could orient herself, her scroll beeped. “ _If you need us, we’ll turn around._ ”

The edge of her mouth quirked. “I have her measure. Just make sure you arrive safely.”

Emerald didn’t respond after that, perhaps knowing there was nothing more to say, but close to ten minutes later, Cinder’s scroll received another message, Mercury’s name flashing on the screen.

All it said was: “ _Be careful._ ”

Cinder sighed softly, stilling as a gust rushed across the open plains, her eyes trained on the screen of her scroll, chest warming with something familiar, tender. Perhaps she ought to have sent them off in person after all.

*

It was only a matter of spotting the towers in the distance to find the brick and mortar walls of Rasyu.

If Cinder’s last stop had been an outpost far from civilization, Rasyu was speck, the cadaver of a proper city left to rot, infested with parasites clinging to what sanctuary could be found. The walls were ancient, relics of before, when the town had bustled with enough activity to merit protection. Now they crumbled from the top down, the smooth bricks cracking and breaking beneath the elements, no one coming to repair the damage done until it pulled down the ramparts, whole sections missing.

Dilapidated or no, the walls did their duty, offering enough protection from roaming Grimm to allow people to cling to life, carving out a home among the shacks and broken down shops within.

But as Cinder was welcomed into the town by a thin, jackal-eared faunus, she noted there were no Grimm to be seen, no matter which direction she looked, the plains open and empty around her. With a final glance back in the direction of Forever Fall, she pursed her lips, wondering…

The faunus led her through the streets, their slitted eyes suspicious, watchful, and those they met on the way ducked into alleys or pressed themselves to walls, eyes downcast. It was no surprise most of the residents here were faunus, and as one of the White Fang’s overseers, there was no doubt her guide was well-known. If they were as efficient as they were feared, Cinder needn’t worry about the transfer of her goods to the proper hands.

Her business was quick and tidy, conducted in the only building untouched by decay, the scent angel’s trumpets thick in the air. The faunus, who introduced themself as Maikoa, led her into a back office and swept the aura suppressants into a drawer of a desk as soon as Cinder set them between the two of them. They’d hardly looked at the item, but promised their swift delivery and asked if there was anything else she needed of them.

“A bag,” she said, the annoyance of having to carry her things raw still. Absently, she rolled the jade earring between her fingers, watching it catch in the light. “And a few provisions.”

“Of course.” They bared their teeth in a mockery of a smile and led the way into an adjoining room.

The direction she was heading was inhospitable, barren, life scraping by in cities even smaller and more ancient than Rasyu. Not even the Schnee railroads would cut a path through the wastelands, not when every inch of them repelled humans - and bred Grimm.

Stories of ancient Grimm roaming the deathly lands were more potent deterrents than even the blazing sun and endless, empty flatland. In the absence of humans, or perhaps because of it, they flourished, growing old beyond human memory and large as mammoths, their tusks and spines broken and yellowing from a life unchallenged by hunters or huntresses.

She’d seen them before, as a child, the hot sand sweltering at the edge of uncomfortable beneath her bare feet. They had been great blots of ink on the wavering horizon, walking in lines or circling the skies like condors, their heads always up, scouting and searching, relentlessly picking away at what remained of life in such a wretched place.

Now that she’d missed her rendezvous in Forever Fall Forest, the wastes were her best shot to pass along her status.

When Cinder told Maikoa of her intentions to enter the wastes, they tilted their head, ears laid back. “The wastes are a dangerous place, Ms. Fall - now more than ever. Grimm mass in great numbers, and grow bold enough to attack even Vacuo.”

Oh? She ran her thumb across the earring. “Vacuo? They don’t often venture that far outside the wastes.”

Maikoa dipped their head, bronze eyes flashing. “Vacuo repelled them, but not without losses. Many Grimm tore at the walls of Vacuo, and those which weren’t slain in the hunt would have returned to the wastes. I would advise against going there now.”

An acute prickle of concern settled between her shoulder blades. If her messenger had been caught up in that… Cinder shook her head, trying to put it out of her mind before it could worry her. Frowning, she said, “I wasn’t asking for advice.”

Clicking their tongue, the faunus merely shook their head. “As you wish.”

Regardless of how they must have believed her suicidal or exceedingly stupid, Maikoa outfitted her with a bag and a couple days worth of food and water. Even that weight would slow her down while crossing the wastes, but she knew Glynda would have no choice but to do the same if she truly intended to follow her. The bag looped over her shoulder, colored black as night.

Looking over the supplies and finding them satisfactory, Cinder turned back on Maikoa. “There’s another matter - about my staying here tonight.”

“Yes?”

“Glynda Goodwitch,” she began, not bothering to hide her amusement as the faunus stiffened in response. “She’s pursuing me currently. I’ve put some space between us for now, but I wouldn’t underestimate her ability to find me again. Post guards at the city’s entrance and notify me if she arrives.”

Narrowing their eyes, Maikoa said, “The White Fang has partnered with you, Ms. Fall. We haven’t agreed to die for you.”

Cinder only smiled. “I thought you’d know better than to _engage_ her.”  
  
*

As much as she’d hoped, Glynda didn’t arrive that night. Cinder spent the evening with her scroll, reviewing the Hill of Roses files and checking overview maps of the wastes, trying to remember the paths she’d once walked when she was younger. When finally the morning came, she found she’d hardly slept at all, waiting for the news that Glynda was snapping at her heels once more.

Maikoa saw her off with a final promise to ensure her things arrived in Vytal, and then she was gone, the plains of yellow grass shifting like a sea at the slightest breeze, short, spindly trees like driftwood lost among the waves.

That night, she sheltered in the hollow of one such tree, her flesh aglow with the heat broiling just beneath her skin, and waited, Glynda’s earring digging into her palm.

There was no sign of her that night either, and vaguely, Cinder wondered if she’d put too much distance between them, or if Glynda had followed the train all the way to Vacuo. She set out the next day, the trees thinning until it was nothing but tall grass, and wondered for the better part of the morning if she ought to return to Rasyu to give her more time to catch up.

Losing her sat poorly in her hollow gut, made her look to the horizon even when Emerald gave her status updates, when she asked about her own progress.

“It’s going well,” she replied each time, remembering the game she made of Glynda’s pursuit would end eventually, whether now or when the machine was finished. She twisted the flint of jade between her fingers, lips pursed, and then continued on, turning her back on Rasyu.

The third day marked the edge of the plains, the grass thinning until it gave way to solid rock, to slabs of red clay, and it was here Glynda caught her at last, the thrill of their previous fights racing up Cinder’s spine like lightning, electricity. Flames bloomed in her palms, the marking across her flesh pulsating with heat, and without the rain, their collision was explosive, brutal.

At least for now, she thought, the taste of copper blooming on her tongue after a particularly hard hit, the game was still on.

They clashed in the belly of a gorge, Cinder scorching the walls black with hellfire and Glynda pulling down rocks upon them both with her semblance. They fought with the wind whipping at their hair, turning Glynda’s cape into jagged wings and Cinder’s dress into a flickering flame. They led and chased and came together until it resembled a dance, the two of them face to face, chest to chest, baring teeth like smiling, snarling wolves - and then they would part and begin again.

Cinder knew Glynda’s feints from her counters, knew the telltale scrape of her heel before a sprint, the gentle cant of her body right before she pirouetted away from a gout of flames, mud on her face and ash in every breath. She knew the crushing force of her magic like an old friend, the impact her aura only ever managed to soften, never consume.

And she knew the cold, assessing look in her eye like she knew her own dreams.

She was relentless, hounding Cinder towards the wastes, never letting her rest, never offering reprieve. It was fascinating, the way she pushed herself until the dark circles beneath her eyes resembled the lingering bruises her aura had yet to heal, the way she seemed to sharpen with every encounter, becoming more efficient, more savage.

Fine-tuned and well-oiled, she operated as if nothing else mattered, barely seeing the civilians when they brawled in the final outpost before the wastes. They didn’t reflect in her eyes, not when all she saw was Cinder.

A hunter, a _wolf_ , lean and gaunt and starving for its next meal. There were moments when even Cinder felt ice prick at the inferno encased by her ribs, something like fear touching her for just a moment as she turned aside a blow meant to kill her.

She was a Witch, she remembered, sweating and channeling aura into blistering flames. She was a Witch, and nothing mattered but the hunt.

 _How far will she chase me?_ Cinder wondered, the shifting sands of the wastes opening up before her as the sun bloodied the sky with its descent. _To the ends of the world? To her own end?_

Setting her jaw, Cinder trekked on, each step taking her farther from the site of their last encounter, the smoke curling towards the clouds like a miasma, dark with soot and ash. Her limbs ached, her aura tapped nearly to depletion, but the last rays of the sun sunk into her bones through the markings down her arms, on the column of her throat, and she danced the earring between her fingers, her lips flattening to a line.

_If she keeps carving away at herself like this, there will hardly be anything left to contain._

*

Leave it to Cinder Fall to find a way to completely vanish from sight, even in bland terrain.

The chase had led south, to the sweltering heat of desert landscapes. From where she was, Glynda could see for miles before the horizon interrupted the orange sand - but there was no sign of Cinder. Far ahead, something like a mirage disrupted the endless nothing, and if she squinted she could see the worn walls of an old town.  It still lived, if her maps were correct, clinging to existence in the sand wastes - but there was no way Cinder had already made it there. Glynda clicked her tongue in annoyance, wiping the sweat from her brow and setting off again, fully aware that there was definitely an ambush waiting for her.

The desert was dotted with rock spires, faltering thorns jutting out of the ground - none of them thick enough to hide a person but definitely strange enough to catch her eye, seeming to sway in the rising heat of the wastes.

They acted as the only shelter this far into the desert, her path tracking from spire to spire, using their fragile shadows as a chance to shield her eyes and have a good look around. Massive dark shapes were hazy on the horizon, old Grimm that knew better than to go after her when she was at full power. They most likely felt her presence just as clearly as she felt theirs, the crawling sensation across her neck growing more potent as more and more amassed.

This far away from bustling cities, Grimm were festering, gathering in clumps of hundreds. They had chased her since Forever Fall, leaving behind their nests beneath the soil and in the hearts of mountains. They knew the tremors of her footsteps above, and without fail, emerged for her blood, constant shadows at the edge of her senses. Easy prey when they strayed too close, but still enough to take an edge off the constant hunger in her.

She pursued Cinder, and in turn, Grimm pursued her, in waves of dozens by the end of the month. Some of them were ancient, menacing in their own right, but none of them were a challenge – none of them were Cinder.

Ignoring them was second nature now, even if more had gathered since she entered the wastes. Above her, the sun was relentless, the air shimmering with heat all around her. Every breath felt like inhaling nothing but dust and a memory of fire.

Her fingers absentmindedly grazed her ear, where an echo of pain still lingered, though the wound was far gone. Tingling scar tissue had knitted together within minutes after she lost Cinder in Forever Fall, and the throbbing ache had died fast, but there were things her Aura just couldn't do on its own. Filling in bits of missing flesh took time and strength, energy she didn’t want to expend. Her thumb caught in the notch in her ear and she drew her hand away.

She could tell even Cinder Fall was getting tired of her tenacity. Glynda had quickly learned that she would not drive Cinder to exhaustion easily – but she could frustrate her endlessly, never allowing either of them a moment to breathe and truly rest.

Though Glynda’s appearance certainly showed wear – her clothes spotted black with soot and yellow-red with blood, in some places torn as if by claws, and her skin marked by old bloodshed like rust – she would maintain steady pursuit like a wolf. The only time she relented, for just a few hours, was to find food or to sleep. Not long enough to let Cinder get proper headway or rest, she always made sure of that, but long enough to keep going.

It would whittle them both away, a battle of bloody attrition Glynda intended to win.

In her soft Beacon years, she had forgotten how a hunt made unnecessary things wilt and die to make room for stronger senses, and even forgot how to use those stronger senses. Now, it was as if she had never lost them. Her blood didn’t just sing to her now, it roared like the engine of a great machine, and the prickle in her flesh at Cinder’s presence was like needles.

She followed that, the digging feeling that seemed to threaten to scrape through her skin and grind on her bones – closing in for a fight, then splitting from Cinder again to recharge, again and again. Eventually, she would have to buckle. Glynda was sure of that, as coldly as she could be sure of the planet’s continued rotation - undeniable fact anchoring her to her goal.

When she finally stopped and checked her scroll, she had received upwards of twenty messages, spread out over the course of the last seven days. She stopped in the shade of one of the spires to make it easier to see her screen. Glynda flicked her messages open with trained, cold movements, eyes flitting only briefly over each of them before dismissing them. Ozpin was not usually such an impatient man - she supposed that came with his impressive age - but she could feel his urgency now, approaching desperation.

_“Glynda? I’m looking into things from my end.”_

“ _I might have found something. Hang on._ ”

“ _Get back to me when you can._ ”

_“Are you there?”_

_“Glynda?”_

After that, it was just more in the same tune, practically begging her to answer. Glynda’s fingers hovered over the message field for a few long seconds, some distant part of her trying to jog her memory of how to properly respond.

She hadn’t had to search this hard for an appropriate response since she was a teenager, when her insides had felt dull and dead and she was reckless enough to scare even Ozpin, his office as familiar then as it was now. She remembered his concerned eyes, his wizened hands curled around the haft of his cane, and not knowing what to do or say to make it better, opting to say nothing in the end. She had been young then, yet to learn or respect the emotions people expected from her. Unfailingly, Ozpin had treated her with kindness, a patience she hadn’t found in any of the other teachers at Beacon, no doubt a product of his longevity, the agelessness which made him more than a man.

“Sorry,” she wrote. That was all she could think of to say. There was nothing to explain her absence. Luckily, his response was immediate – had he been waiting by the phone like that for a week? A vague lurch of guilt quickly drowned in interest as she read his message.

 _“A previous hunter on Cinder Fall’s trail left his notes behind in a private safe storage with the Atlesian military,”_ Ozpin wrote. _“The safe box has not been opened since his death, but now that we know the potential value of its contents, it should be easy enough to get ahold of.”_

“How much did this previous hunter know?” Glynda asked, sitting down to rest against the rock that cast a shadow over her. It didn’t hide her from potential enemies, but it hid her from the sun well enough, inky black Grimm on the horizon stalking closer, always wary.

_“Well, we haven’t acquired his notes yet, as I said. But he must have gotten further than you have, if the silence is any indicator.”_

Glynda balked at his gentle reprimand and started writing a rebuttal, but hesitated and deleted it. She really didn’t have anything to show for her hunt, not yet. Ozpin was usually right, even when he took that tone with her. She had learned that lesson over and over again in the years since they had met. Instead of trying to defend herself, she stared blankly down at the screen, waiting for him to send her something more. A scalding wind whipped sand against her sides in waves, coming around the spire.

_“I take it you’re interested?”_

“Yes.”

_“I’ll get back to them, then. I’ll forward you the contact details after I get a response. Anything to add?”_

“Anyone but Ironwood,” she responded, leaving him to deduce what she meant. He was well familiar with her dislike for the General’s methods and attitude, and she would rather turn back and go home than personally reach out to Ironwood for help. Ozpin would have to find some other representative to handle this delicate information. Ironwood would not like it, but she knew from experience that Ozpin would find a way to pull through for her.

A few minutes later, her scroll buzzed again. Ozpin passed her the details for a secure communication channel to an Atlasian address, belonging to one Special Operative Winter Schnee. She saved the information, and then looked up, glancing around warily. Glynda barely remembered to send a ‘thank you’ to Ozpin before clicking her scroll shut and putting it away. The constant unease crawling down her spine intensified. She smelled fire.

Not the scorch of the earth this time, nor the dry smell of rocky sand. A choking wildfire, churning smog and destruction into the sky, ashes raining down – a smell like dying Grimm. So, here was that ambush.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Hellfire lashed at the spire at Glynda’s back, the rock running down one side like fingers of wax. Glynda snatched her crop from its sheath and rolled, seizing the melting spire with her Semblance and snapping it at its thinning base. The blistering sands shifted beneath her as she jumped to her feet, but even stumbling for balance, she turned the spire into a lance, thrusting it blindly into the flames.

They swallowed it whole and dimmed, licking at the bare ground and turning sand into patches of shined glass, and for a split second, Glynda imagined a hit. Then the glare on the horizon took shape, practically glowing from inside with live flames, and Glynda recognized the patterns of gold surging with aura along Cinder’s dress, the long strides which carried her over the molten remains of Glynda’s attack.

A chill ran down Glynda’s spine, something cold and logical telling her Cinder Fall shouldn’t be capable of such a thing. In all their encounters, she’d only ever turned away Glynda’s assaults, the shards of debris red-hot but intact, but now -

Glynda cast a quick glare up to the unobstructed sun, quickly reasoning that if heavy rain could weaken Cinder -

Volcanoes flared with more compassion. Her aura screamed against the next volley of flames, struggling to protect her as Cinder attacked, her Semblance coaxing the flames into a dual-headed serpent, hissing and spitting as they grew hotter still.

It was all Glynda could do just gain distance, stumbling between columns of hellfire while Cinder advanced calmly, eyes ablaze with something like excitement. As Glynda had pursued her, never allowing for rest or retaliation, Cinder pursued her, the rearing heads of the flame viper striking in quick succession, even the slightest graze against her aura invoking flash sweats, the heat of the desert paling in comparison to the inferno at Cinder’s command.

As Glynda reached for another spire with her Semblance, Cinder preempted her, one of the heads swallowing the spire whole, the rock hissing and cracking as it broke apart, the fragments steaming as they melded with the loose sand. Glynda even pulled at the sand itself as one of the heads bared its fangs at her flank, the wall collapsing into molten globs, useless.

There was nowhere to run in this desolate wasteland, the inky blots of Grimm still hovering on the horizon, their ears pricked, the crawl of their interest across her neck invoking shivers even here.

Being solely on the defensive was foreign to Glynda, but there was nothing she could do. Flames rebounded off her aura shield with a snap of fangs, each hit carving away at her aura without offering a chance at retaliation. Cinder would never let her get close enough to trade blows, and without anything useful to return on Cinder beside her own aura there were few options but to keep moving.

And through it all, walking barefoot over melting sand, Cinder hounded her, cold and hungry and relentless.

On the edge of the endless wastes, Glynda spotted the crumbling walls from before, the synapses in her body all alighting in unison, a singular force to turn her path as the twin heads lashed out at her again. Her lungs burned, Cinder’s attacks superheating the air until it felt as though she were inhaling the flames themselves, but stopping meant death, and death meant failure.

Outside the main walls, sunken testaments to previous constructions dotted the landscape, half-buried in the sand, the remnants of a time when the city was larger. Glynda seized them as soon as her Semblance could reach, turning the heavy rubble on Cinder with a twist, not even stopping to aim.

The ground shook as the bricks fell uselessly among the sand, missing by a long shot, and the flames struck out again, Glynda propelling herself forward with a burst of aura at the last moment, the heat on her neck her only warning.

With a wide move of her hand, a large portion of abandoned wall shook free from the sand, mortar crumbling between the bricks. She let it, allowed the heavy stone slabs to come apart freely, and turned them on Cinder. It was a smooth-moving liquid mass of rubble, shifting and rearranging itself as it weaved towards Cinder like a snake through the air. Without batting an eyelid, Cinder struck back, one head catching the attack as the other lunged for Glynda.

Hellfire engulfed her completely, her aura surging just to repel the heat, to keep her bones from cracking like kindling, her flesh from melting like wax.

Every muscle in her body shrilled with the alarm bells of an over-worked machine, and instinctively, she swung her crop, picking up anything she could. Sand rose in a great wave, smothering the flames just enough for Glynda to escape before she could be cooked alive. Her aura was draining her dangerously fast, and she calculated the damage, assessing her capabilities without stopping, every lesson about exhaustion and survival running through her mind like lines of code.

The city walls rose before her, growing closer with each step, and all of Glynda’s processing went into measuring out the aura she’d need to clear it in a single bound. Too much, if she was being honest, but staying here would kill her.

She couldn’t take even a single blow, couldn’t falter for a second. If her defense was half-hearted even once, she was done for. Glynda felt a slow-moving hunger stir deep in her, the early warning of a depleted aura, and grit her teeth against it, pushing herself to muster the strength to make the leap.

Starvation sucked at her marrow and despair mixed with her blood instead of magic. What remained of her aura flared through every inch of her, and both heads of the snake converged on her at once, a freight train of aura and fire as solid as it was hot.

Blackness swam at the edges of her vision, a choked grunt tearing from her throat, her aura nearly collapsing as Cinder’s attack sent her crashing through the city wall.

Had she not been preparing to jump, the impact could have broken her, but she landed hard among the rubble, tumbling, her aura cloaking her in protection. She blinked away the stars, fighting to jump to her feet before Cinder could deal the finishing blow, her ears ringing.

Before she even made it to her knees, a damning crack tore through the constant buzz in her ear, her attention snapping up to the wall she’d just been blasted through. Cinder had punched her right through the base, fractures spreading up as more stone fell away. Acute realization struck Glynda at the same time the fractures reached the crux of the wall, the whole section collapsing.

Glynda coughed, covering her face as clouds of dust and sand filled her lungs, stinging her eyes. She staggered to her feet, crop clutched tight at her side. In the distance, over the dull sounds of the city slowly filtering through as the ringing faded, a Grimm howled.

 _This city_ , Glynda thought, squinting and looking around, catching flashes of a street; rusted, ancient vehicles; lines of shops; and dozens of faces, all struck with horror. _The Grimm. Cinder_.

Her body tensed all at once, and a split second before Cinder’s attack consumed the spot she had been standing, Glynda leapt aside. The scent of smoke filled her nose - her cape? She grit her teeth, reaching behind her and grasping at the singed fabric, crop held at the ready as she stared down the two heads emerging from the dispersing dust clouds.

She was slowing down, that she knew. From the rubble, Glynda spotted the glint of gold, the flash of teeth. She also knew Cinder had no plans to end their bout here.

“Not as spry as you used to be?” Cinder stepped through the open gap in the wall, her eyes never leaving Glynda even as people began to raise the alarm, pointing at the broken wall and turning to flee. They knew what would come next just as well as Glynda did. “It must be the _heat_.”

Cinder didn’t often speak during their fights - not after the brutal punishment Glynda had dealt in Forever Fall Forest. For her to do it now… Glynda felt the sweat collect along her forehead, but her expression never changed.

Clicking her tongue at Glynda’s silence, Cinder’s eyes narrowed a fraction, a tell Glynda knew intimately. The snake lunged, and she raised debris from the wall, feeling the strain deep within her, like stretching a muscle too far. Breathless, she swept back into the city, fending off Cinder’s assault with whatever she could grab.

Vibrant colors passed her by, woven rugs and open grills, the street tight and confined. The people were already escaping, trampling each other to run the other way, leaving behind their decades old trucks when the way was blocked. Glynda danced around the ancient things, picking them up and using them as shields.

She picked up the aluminum roof of a stall, crates of goods, a sign with slightly altered words, and Cinder’s flames burnt each to ash.

Yet even as Glynda darted between abandoned cars, every move dedicated to escape, avoidance, she couldn’t look away from the desert stretching beyond the broken wall, the dark shapes moving on the horizon. Another howl was taken up by the Grimm, their shapes growing larger, and all of Glynda prickled at once.

The first of them would reach the city in moments, caution abandoned for the great opportunity, the fear and panic bubbling over like a witch’s cauldron. People were beginning to scream, closer now - from the impending massacre or the heat of Cinder’s flames, Glynda couldn’t be sure.

Yet for all that Cinder must have known what rushed at her back, she didn’t waver, her eyes set on Glynda, never straying. Glynda reached for one of the buildings, but when she tried to pull it down upon Cinder, only a couple of bricks dropped from the roof, Cinder unaffected if not incensed.

The first of the Grimm - a Deathstalker twice the size of any of the cars in the street - reached the breach in the wall the moment Cinder swept her arms in a wide arc, the flame serpent pummeling Glynda through a shop stall and into the house behind it. Sandstone broke like glass, and Glynda’s aura shield shattered moments after her skull would have, furniture cracking beneath her as she landed.

For several seconds, the world was only chaos, her brain too shocked to process anything correctly. Stars flared against the darkness of her vision, the impact of the ground against her back and the violently disorienting tumble which followed immediate and startling, no aura to dull the pain. For the first time in years, fear pricked at Glynda, reminding her that she had not died but was about to.

The ringing in her ears faded, sounds returning in a jumble. Even now, she knew there was no room for fear, and she snuffed it out, focusing on parsing the chaos. She heard screaming still. Dull sounds of rubble still settling. Finally, an awareness of her own body returned, washing over her in an unforgiving wave. A mix of the aching deprivation in her blood and the much more physical cuts, bruises, and broken bones.

Her aura had barely saved her life before going out like a candle, her body left in the rubble of some sort of dining room, the remains of a table crushed beneath her. Blood bloomed in slow roses through her clothes. Even though she was able to assess the damage, when she tried to move and her joints resisted her, she experienced a moment of puzzlement. It had been so long since she had been truly injured; her first response was not panic or defensive wrath, but sheer confusion at why parts of her weren’t functioning properly.

Glynda forced her body to cooperate, feeling as vulnerable as a rabbit in a snare. She tried to sit up, but a sharp jolt of pain through her torso left her curled on her side in agony, gasping for breath, bloodied hands grasping helplessly at her body as if she could soothe away the pain just by holding it. One of her glasses’ lenses was shattered, but with some effort from her sore neck, she finally managed to look up and focus on the hole in the wall, the room more like a cage with its low ceiling and close walls.

A jolt passed down her spine at the sight of Cinder Fall silhouetted against plumes of black smoke, her dress billowing around her, hair twisting and curling like snakes as her flame construct faded into nothing behind her.

Dark shapes plagued the streets like phantoms, chasing the living with teeth bared, hooked claws long and reaching, and instinctively Glynda tensed, the echoing pound of her heart between her ribs urging her to rise, to _hunt_. Surely, the Grimm would leave absolutely nothing of the town, would pick it clean of life now that the protective wall was down.

Glynda grit her teeth, not daring to close her eyes to focus on her aura. She prodded and goaded the dregs of strength buried in the aching depths of her soul, trying to draw out more power than it could possibly provide, trying to force it to multiply in size and allow her to stand.

Cinder’s silhouette was growing, her eyes glowing like molten gold, like forge-fresh magma and the condemnation of a death sentence. As she ducked into the shade cast by the ruined remains of the house, Glynda could see the expression on her face clearly. She looked unusually stiff-faced, without a hint of her usual sneers and smirks. Her eyes were fixed on Glynda, betraying no emotions, her mouth a neutral line.

An uncontrollable flash of imagination brought to mind an image of Ozpin having to find her as they had found the previous hunters sent on Cinder’s trail – brutalized and burned black to the bone, strung up like a warning sign in Cinder’s wake.

Vaguely, fear pricked at her again, flourishing even as she tried to smother it, her jaw set, unwilling to blink, to swallow, to breathe. Cinder’s strides were that of a predator, wary of its prey’s final death throes, empty eyes locked with Glynda’s. When would she realize Glynda had nothing left to give? When would she make the killing blow? Glynda tasted copper, faintly realizing that she was biting down on her own tongue hard enough to draw blood. Her lungs were starting to long for air, but it felt as though any move might be an invitation to end it, Cinder’s stare piercing, unblinking.

It was like looking into a mirror and trying to parse the empty gaze staring back at her, and shuddering, Glynda blinked, the spell shattering as scales scraped over stone just outside the house.

The Grimm pursuing Glynda were ancient, massive things, and this King Taijitu was no different, its tongue flickering out to taste the air as one head appeared. Its skull plating was yellow and cracked, the red pits of its eyes wide and watching, some base sentience within as it turned on the two of them.

It sampled the air again, and as it slipped into the house, the second head appeared, both sets of eyes firmly on Glynda. All at once, it was like staring into the unforgiving flames of Cinder’s creation, her death assured either way. She gripped her crop in futile resistance, the wail of her pulse in her ears, but her aura had nothing to offer. The heads rose, flanking Cinder on either side, scales sliding against the ceiling, and at last, Glynda sucked in a final breath.

And then the spell shattered, Cinder snapping into focus and spinning on her heel, hands shooting up just at the two heads lunged, maws wide, fangs bared.

There were no flames, no explosive counters - if she’d blinked, she would have missed it. As if by magic, the Grimm halted, frozen in time as chaos raged just outside. Red eyes narrowed, tongues flickering out furiously, but nothing and no one moved.

“Leave,” she said, low and forceful.

The twin heads inched closer, their snouts a hair’s breadth from Cinder’s open palms. The markings along Cinder’s clothes and flesh - Glynda was noticing them for the first time, the edges creeping up her shoulders from the cut of her dress - flared bright, but there was no heat, no flames which rolled off her skin in waves.

Cinder’s toes curled against the stone. _“Leave_.”

This time, even the world beyond the house seemed to still, every Grimm frozen, ears pricked, noses turned towards the air. Glynda could feel them all, their attention scraping across her skin, but for the first time, they weren’t focused on her at all.

Cinder dropped her hands and took a step forward, and in response, the King Taijitu retreated, backing out of the house entirely as she stood on the threshold, the unnatural quiet stirring deep unease in Glynda. Both heads blinked at her, assessing, computing, base intelligence chugging away within their empty skulls. And then the King Taijitu turned, long body disappearing from sight - and it wasn’t the only one. Dozens of Grimm passed them, the whole group headed back in the direction of the breach, their ears pinned back to their heads, mandibles and claws snapping together.

Glynda was barely breathing, unable to properly process what had happened – even unable to truly settle her mind on what she had seen. The Grimm were gone – at Cinder’s command? It shouldn’t have been possible, but Glynda had seen the whole thing, her eyes still trained on Cinder’s back, the deep exhale which caused those thin shoulders to sag. The woman stood silent and still, staring out into the desert after the retreating Grimm.

Feeling the smallest blossom of aura in her chest at last, Glynda nurtured it like a flickering flame, kickstarting her aura’s restoration. Once her aura got started, it would begin feeding on itself for strength and swell at an inhuman rate, but for now... Glynda braced her hands against the floor, her muscles trembling, screaming in protest as she tried to push herself up.

Cinder turned as if just remembering her presence and came striding back into the house, purpose in every step, nothing but confidence and predatory grace.

Glynda tasted blood, on her elbows and knees in the dust, struggling to keep her chin up, teeth grit in stubborn defiance.  Blood gushed relentlessly from her straining wounds, and the pain in her body was white-hot, almost too strong to be properly felt at all. Something in her resisted, like a wounded animal in its final throes, refusing to let her die on her belly like a defenseless worm. She was not strong enough to fight. She may not have been strong enough to stand. Nevertheless, something in her refused to accept her fate docilely, like a screaming in her soul that drove her to push her weary bones to carry her.

She could smell the sulfur and smoke as Cinder drew near, bare feet making light steps on the tile floor, barely audible. Neither of them said anything – to Glynda, they were beyond the point where words were necessary, a stalking mountain lion and a frightened deer desperately kicking out with broken legs. She could only wait for the suffocating bite that would break her neck.

It never came.

Instead, Cinder leaned down, examining Glynda closely before reaching out to her with an open hand. When Glynda remained frozen, on her hands and knees in front of Cinder, she rolled her eyes and spoke in a low voice. “Don’t be difficult. If I wanted to kill you here, you would already be dead.”

Glynda supposed she couldn’t argue with that.  She reached out, unable to look away, and took Cinder’s outstretched hand.

She knew better than to be surprised at the strength with which Cinder pulled her to her feet, after nearly a month of regular clashes. She was, however, surprised at the spark between their palms, aura shooting through her arm and rushing to fill the empty spaces of her own soul, red-hot and foreign, unlike any other aura Glynda had ever felt. Greedily accepting the extra boost Cinder gave, Glynda’s aura flourished anew, filling her steadily with power. The pain in every limb dulled, and she swayed, lightheaded from the rush. Cinder’s free hand braced against her shoulder, steadying her, and the prickling grip on Glynda’s hand was almost painfully strong.

Cinder smiled a serpent’s smile, all power and sunlight and _motives_ , her gaze mimicking the heat of her flesh. Then, she gave Glynda’s hand a squeeze, aura giving one final blitz before she pulled away, her absence as striking as her presence. Winking, she said, “You owe me.”

“No, I don’t,” Glynda answered automatically, barely registering the words as her own, her throat dry, voice ragged.

Unfazed, Cinder ran her fingers through her silver-streaked hair. “You’re a touch too old for petulant, Glynda.”

It couldn’t have been shame which colored her cheeks; more likely it was surprise, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of a lecture. Smug satisfaction oozed from Cinder as Glynda struggled to muster a retort.

The only thing which came to her tongue was: “How did you - ”

Cinder scoffed, offering something of a dismissive wave. “Take care, Glynda.”

And as quickly as she had ambushed Glynda in the first place, Cinder was gone, disappearing outside the house. Looking down at her hand, where a faint prickle of magic still lingered, crackling along the lines in her palm as though it already missed Cinder’s spark, Glynda carefully closed her hand and opened it again.

Soon, her aura would completely erase any trace of injury, allowing the pain to fade away into a haze of memories, as if it never truly happened.  

With some effort, she crossed to the ruined wall, pausing to lean against it, and with a weary sigh, she surveyed the town, the broken wall, the ravaged streets. The Grimm were gone, but in their wake, question remained, none more pressing than:

_Just who was Cinder Fall?_

 


	6. Chapter 6

In the smouldering remains of their fight, Glynda felt the spark of Cinder’s aura, persisting even as her own filled her chest, swallowing the pain and unnecessary questions, letting her move and act and fix. People gathered to watch as she repaired houses and flipped cars, her joints creaking with every step like an engine trying to fire, its cylinders clogged with sand. Neatly, precisely, she slotted the rubble back into its original spot, rebuilding the wall so seamlessly it might have never been breached.

When she finished, she turned and found their gazes keener,  following every minute movement, from the direction of her cold stare to the strain  of her fingers around her crop.  A reverent whisper passed through the crowd like wind through dry grass.

She  turned away , intending to find a vaguely horizontal place to sleep, but one of them stopped her, his voice trembling, and offered her his home. 

Sweat trickled down her back. Automatic response:  _ I can’t. _ Her brain chugged, something clicking into place. Home. Food. Shower.  _ Bed. _

Glynda couldn’t muster a response, but she nodded, sheathing her crop. He bowed his head and led her through the quiet streets, the civilians all pulled away into dark corners, their eyes daring upward to glimpse her as she passed .

Normally, she would shower before bed. She  wasn’t so picky anymore.  Her host’s accent was almost too thick to parse, each word affected, not quite right, but she still understood well enough to find her room and collapse into the bed there, face buried in the pillow. 

In the split second before she faded from consciousness, she smelled ash, the foreign aura  within her flaring until she could taste it: burning flesh and steady decay. Then it disappeared, fizzling out.

She did not dream. She couldn't remember dreaming anything for at least the past month. 

When she awoke the next morning, it was as though pulling herself from some great void, escaping the gaping jaws of Tartarus not by startling into awareness, but through the slow remembrance that she, Glynda Goodwitch, existed at all.

Images of Grimm heeding Cinder - _ obeying  _ Cinder - swam between her temples, but instead of immediately pushing them away in favor of efficiency, Glynda let them  trickle in, swelling into a great sea of questions, of the things she didn’t understand.

First and foremost: how Cinder was able to command creatures with no minds, no motives, nothing in them save the desire to kill, to hunt.

It shouldn’t have been possible, she knew, rising to find the shower while she considered.  Directing Grimm was not a human feat , but Cinder had done it all the same.

The  water  felt lukewarm at best after the unforgiving  heat of the desert,  but the moment the spray from the ancient showerhead hit her skin, her head turned to mush, losing her train of thought to the mere sensation of it . The water ran yellow-red as she washed the dry blood off her skin,  and some distant, unused part of her brain fired up again, registering the feeling as comfort.

Shedding the layers of blood felt like chipping the rusty and dented outer shell off a metal construct - she was almost surprised to find soft skin underneath it all still. Glynda ran her fingers through her hair, vigorously rinsing the dust and dirt from it, her scalp stinging slightly when she scrubbed herself clean. 

It was about time. She hadn't had a real bath in a long while - at best a quick rinse in a stream here and there - too caught up in the hunt to stop for proper lodging. So she relished this shower,  staying longer than she needed even if it meant more time for Cinder to elude her.

She didn’t get the feeling Cinder was trying to lose her now anyway.

Questions pricked at her again, each more demanding than the last. What was Cinder doing running around Remnant on foot? Why did she save Glynda from certain death? Had she always been holding back on the killing blow? 

Glynda grunted. It would certainly explain why so many of their fights had ended in stalemates or quick escapes, but she didn’t like the notion that Cinder Fall had been  _ holding back _ .

Pangs of hunger were the only thing capable of drawing Glynda from beneath the spray, and mournfully, she turned off the water and reached for a towel. As she dried herself off, her mind returned to the endless cycle of questions. As important as it was to know why Cinder  wanted Glynda alive, the _ how _ seemed more relevant now.

She hadn’t held any device, hadn’t even used any dust. Cinder had simply stood there, a bastion between Glynda and death, and  _ commanded _ the Grimm to leave - and they had.

It could be a Semblance, Glynda reasoned, reaching up to squeeze the water from her hair. If there were Semblances which could control Grimm though, they’d never been documented, not even once in all of history. 

Halfway through gathering pale curls of hair loosely over one shoulder, Glynda  paused,  catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. A thriving sunburn made her face look constantly flushed, and she roused her aura to soothe away the redness. 

At least chasing Cinder through this awful desert might leave her with a nice tan, Glynda thought, her mouth quirking into a half-smile. 

When she emerged from the bathroom, she found her clothes had disappeared, a fresh set of thin, brightly colored linen left folded in their place. From beyond her door, the bustle of spoons scraping against pans and the subtle spice of something cooking renewed her hunger. Looking back at the clothes set out for her, she supposed she couldn’t be picky - she just hoped  her own were being washed.

She dressed slowly in the purple and gold garb, and  once she had finished, she glanced at her scroll, flashing with messages, all of them surely from Ozpin. Not quite human enough to deal with that yet,  she passed it by . 

Though her injuries had healed and her aura replenished, the sheer exhaustion of her clash with Cinder still sat in her bones. For the first time in years, Glynda would rather sleep for another ten hours than do anything.  Hunger was all that kept her from returning to bed now - and the need to figure out Cinder Fall.

For now though... 

Downstairs, Glynda found her host preparing what could have been a banquet. Plates of steaming, freshly baked bread and deep dishes of what looked like some sort of curry  were arranged on a small table. The man at the stove  looked up , muttering something Glynda only barely recognized as a greeting. 

She responded with a terse nod but couldn’t keep her eyes from returning to the feast laid out before her. Her stomach growled.

At once, her host’s lips curled in a reserved smile, gesturing to the table and offering her a plate,  and she thanked him sincerely,  hoping he understood .

Glynda had always had an impressive appetite, but now she was weak and recovering, and it was easy to put away enough food to make her feel just a little embarrassed. Her host never complained though, and when Glynda could finally have no more, he disappeared into another room and returned with her clothes, freshly laundered. 

He shooed her when she tried to pick up her plates, and with no way to truly argue, she thanked him once more and returned to her room, her neatly folded clothes clutched close to her chest. 

With a full belly, she made a beeline for the bed, lying back on it, her clothes nestled at her side. It was time to begin making some sense of all of this.

She had to slow down and think. She had to use the resources Ozpin had provided her with, and  _ think _ . No more rushing ahead and getting herself torn up for nothing. Glynda found the contact details he had sent her and dialed the number, ignoring the other messages for the time being . 

A holographic screen flared to life from the scroll, floating in midair. She adjusted it so it hung parallel with her bed, perfectly positioned above her head so she looked directly at it. After a few rings, the screen flickered, and  the feed revealed a woman  dressed in a pressed Atlas uniform. The set of her jaw resembled Ironwood’s, but where the General’s eyes bared his every thought, her cool gaze revealed nothing. Glynda might have  stiffened if she hadn’t been  full and exhausted , but she still made a mental note not test this one’s patience too far. 

“Special Operative Winter Schnee, I presume?” Glynda said, tucking one hand under her head. 

The woman gave a stiff nod,  the numerous awards displayed across her chest jingling with the slight movement . “Glynda Goodwitch? Headmaster Ozpin informed me you would be in touch.”  She hesitated for a moment. “Are you… Reclining?”

Glynda put her scroll down on her stomach to let her other hand rest as well.  Let Ironwood hear about this, she thought.  “ I am. I hear you have a file regarding Cinder Fall that I would be...most interested in.”

Winter Schnee  gave her another pass with her eyes, thin lips flattened into something unreadable, but after a moment she finally responded. “I must apologize.  Professor Ozpin must  have neglected to disclose the current stumblings in regards to the file.”

One of Glynda’s brows arched. “Stumblings?”

“Yes. When it was retrieved, we were able to override the security of the safe box which contained it, but the file itself heavily encrypted. We  have been unable to access it as of-” Winter checked her wrist. “Thirty-seven minutes ago.”

Glynda knew the disappointment did not show on her face. She nodded instead,  old courtesies revitalized by her shower and meal. “Still, thank you for your efforts.”

“We will  continue operations to crack the file,” Winter replied, wasting no time. “Should I call you back when  the information is available ?”

“A text message would be better,” Glynda said. “And I'll call you when I get the chance.”

“Understood. I'll inform Professor Ozpin of our arrangement forthwith. He’s shown great interest in both your progress and mine.”

Glynda cleared her throat. “I suppose Ironwood has as well.” 

Winter’s shoulders rose in something decidedly rigid, a shrug on anyone else. “My duties and the General’s are, as the mission dictates, separate. For the time being.”

Glynda blinked, dazed for a second at the implications there. “ You’re not reporting to General Ironwood?”

Winter’s  lips quirked in something resembling a smile , a conspiratorial glint in her eye.  Lowering her voice, she said, “When I was assigned to this task , I was given a direct order from  Professor Ozpin not to involve General Ironwood. He  won’t be privy to our conversations or arrangements , though the information on the file will be within his security clearance . I report only to  Professor  Ozpin on  your status .”

“Is that allowed?”

Scooting forward in her chair, Winter’s awards jingled quietly as she folded her hands across her lap, the leather stretched across interlocking fingers. “ The world will continue to turn regardless of General Ironwood’s awareness of it - despite his beliefs to the contrary ,” Winter said,  tone dangerously close to cross. Her eyes were shards of ice, frozen with distaste. “The General has  dispatched a myriad of competent, capable soldiers after Cinder Fall with no progress, completely undeterred by their deaths. Frankly, I believe he has resigned the right to be involved.”

At once, Glynda understood why Ozpin had turned to Winter Schnee.  For someone so esteemed within Ironwood’s own troops to spite him so thoroughly, his incompetence in handling this hunt must ha ve exceeded even Glynda’s expectations… And for speaking out even indirectly about a man like Ironwood… 

Well , Glynda decided she liked this Winter Schnee. 

“Your candidness is appreciated, Special Operative Schnee.”

An understanding passed between them, quiet but forceful. Glynda felt herself relax, and in response, Winter gave a slight nod, leaning back into her chair somewhat. 

“ Yes, well… I admit I have some level of personal investment in this hunt as well,” Winter continued,  more conversational than before , her gaze wandering as if she was recalling something distant.  Her lips pursed, as though trying to decide what to say. Glynda waited, and finally, slowly, she continued, “Cinder Fall has... captured my attention for quite some time now.  When General Ironwood refused to abort the mission to capture  her , I thought I could stem the tide of losses myself. I recommended the last hunter they  assigned to pursue her - the one who wrote this file -  because he was efficient, intuitive, and very careful…

“I also underestimated her, it seems. At the cost of his life.”

Her smile turned rueful , and  Winter cast her eyes down for a moment. Guilt. 

From the ashes of her memories, Cinder rose like a phoenix, a firestorm of gold and crimson; she built her pyres upon the charred bones of her pursuers, never satisfied, never sated, and yet -

Absently, Glynda’s fingers drifted to the notch in her ear. Cinder had butchered every person who’d ever been assigned to her - all save for Glynda. Unbidden, the question consumed her thoughts:  _ why? _

It was only when silence fell heavy between them that Glynda realized some part of Winter was waiting for a response. Fumbling, she pulled her hand away and offered,  “She's strong. Very strong.”

“Yes,” Winter agreed, a shade of hunger coloring her expression. 

The weighted pause which followed was a clear invitation to divulge more,  but more than that would have involved the Grimm . Mentioning them to Winter would only raise questions she didn’t have the answers to - and incite alarm. For now… 

“I don't know what she's planning,” Glynda offered. “I'm hoping this file can set me on the right track. Right now, this is just a blood hunt for her head -  but  I would like to discover her actual goals if I can.”

And the methods. If Grimm could be controlled… What a powerful weapon for humanity, if only it could be stolen from her .

But Cinder Fall had few tells. She  seemed  almost  indifferent to the results of their fights, so her stakes in whatever was going on were not impacted by whether she lost or won to Glynda. If anything, she’d  been thrilled to see Glynda on several occasions,  not even trying to escape until after they’d already  drawn blood .

Well, Glynda had  _ thought _ she was entirely indifferent, up until the latest clash. Cinder had every chance to end the hunt and go for the kill. It would have been easy for her to finish Glynda off at the end, when the huntress was too wounded and spent to even crawl. But Cinder had shown  _ mercy _ , to her and the town, turning away the Grimm and sending them back into the desert.

...And then, Cinder had  done more , pulled  Glynda to her feet and let her hungry soul have bits of  her own. Aura transfers were nothing new - Glynda had been in both ends of that kind of gift before - but to receive one here had been the last thing Glynda expected. 

_ Ergo _ , Glynda thought, Cinder did not want her dead. 

The knowledge should have been comforting. It should have made her feel like no matter what happened in their fights, if Cinder refused to go for the kill Glynda would ultimately win the game and walk away with her head. It should have inspired confidence and eliminated all risk,  even with the Grimm . 

Instead, it only filled her with  deep unease. Glynda didn't know what Cinder’s game was, but it was becoming clear that it did not align with  her own . And the more she thought about it, the less she understood. The less she understood, the more wary she became. 

Winter’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “I presume you will report to Professor Ozpin if you  discover anything of substance ?”

Glynda nodded, slightly embarrassed at having lost herself so thoroughly in thought while in the middle of a conversion. 

“Well,” Winter Schnee hesitated a heartbeat longer than her confidence and rank led one to anticipate. “If you learn  anything of worth , please do not hesitate to contact me again. I am very eager to  reach a conclusion and put Cinder Fall out of my mind once and for all. I’m confident you understand how frustrating it can be to follow her \- just earlier this month a Schnee cargo train was  burglarized, or so we suspected. ”

“It wasn’t?”

Winter shook her head, frowning. “A single guard’s black box survived,  containing footage of her, in person, dismantling the guardians as if they were toys, and taking only the  aura suppressants they carried .”

“That sounds like something she would do,” Glynda agreed, then paused, surprised at her own conviction. 

She didn't know Cinder Fall the person. But Cinder Fall, the enemy, Cinder the combatant, the  witch … Glynda knew a bit about that side of her, she supposed. Enough to anticipate her moves well enough to counter before the attack came, and enough to categorize every smirk and smile according to the emotions at play in them.

She did not know the person called Cinder Fall. But she knew the fighter more than well enough. 

“Indeed.” Winter nodded. “They were designed by my father’s most capable engineers. Be careful, Glynda. Even you…”

“I will,” Glynda promised, shifting uncomfortably at the thought.

“Then I suppose there’s nothing more to say. Special Operative Schnee, out.”

The scroll’s hologram screen closed, and the gentle whir of the scroll itself died out.  Left alone , Glynda stared into the ceiling, motionless,  realizing that she knew nothing more than before about  the enemy, her capabilities, or her motives .

Exhaling, Glynda picked up her scroll with her Semblance, holding it overhead and reaching up to activate its screen. The light at the corner flashed faithfully, alerting her to messages, and she swallowed, remembering how long it had been since she’d had a true conversation with Oz. He would be understanding, that she knew, but that didn’t change how negligent she’d been. 

With a touch, she opened what he’d sent her, scanning the messages asking after her health, her mission, anything to get her to respond. Since their last, short interaction, he’d sent her a half dozen messages - it seemed he was getting more desperate. 

She grimaced, trying to find the words to make this right, and suddenly she was sixteen again, sat before him in his office, her mouth full of cotton.

Perhaps a direct approach. 

“Hello.”

He’d greeted her the same way plenty of times before. Surely this would -

_ “Hello, Glynda. How are you?” _

A shadow of smile snuck onto her face. Maybe this would be easier than she’d expected. She wrote, “I followed up on your lead. Thank you for assigning Winter Schnee.”

_ “She’s one of James’ most prodigious soldiers. Did you know she’s not quite thirty yet? So young and so gifted. Did you  _ _ discover _ _ anything useful?” _

So he didn’t know. “The file was encrypted. They haven’t managed to crack the code yet, but Winter will let me know when they do. In the meantime,  I wanted your counsel on something . ”

_ “Oh?” _

Glynda hesitated. Ozpin had seen the ages come and go, untouched by time. He’d seen and trained generations of hunters and huntresses now; if there was anyone who’d be privy to obscure Semblances  from times past , it was him.

Still. She didn’t want to raise alarm. Best to ease into this...

“Have you ever come across a method to control Grimm? Or anyone who was capable of such a thing?”

_ “What? No? Why??” _

Glynda pressed her lips; she needed a delicate hand here, needed to carefully choose a response which would divert Ozpin away from the topic. “No reason.”

Her scroll buzzed immediately.  _ “Are you sure? What’s going on there?” _

She sighed and tilted her head back into the pillow, closing her eyes. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d led herself to believe. And now that she knew even Ozpin didn’t have answers for her… 

Side-stepping this conversation was going to be a mess, but explaining it would be  even worse .  Naggingly, the thought occurred to her: if not with Ozpin, who could she discuss this with?

Before she could decide, her scroll buzzed again, and she inclined her head, frowning as soon as she saw the screen. A new number had appeared on her scroll, the source obscured by a bolded UNKNOWN.

No one knew this number save Oz. She frowned harder, narrowing her eyes. 

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she grabbed her scroll from midair. Squinting down at the screen, she opened the message, more confused by its contents than its sudden appearance. 

A string of numbers followed by what looked like a date and time. Before Glynda could try to make heads or tails of it, another text from the same source popped up on her screen. 

_ “Don’t be late.” _

Glynda stared for a long moment before something clicked into place, the scent of sulfur like a ghost in the air. Cinder.

Her thumbs were frozen over the keyboard, unsure what, if anything, to reply. How had she gotten this number? And more importantly, what did her message mean? She flicked back to the first one, scanning over the numbers before recognition finally seized her. 

Grid coordinates. 

Now she sensed a trap, Winter’s warning about the aura suppressants jumping to the fore of her  mind . Like an animal rising from a long hibernation, her body went tense, stiff from head to toe. She’d just begun trying to unravel the mystery surrounding Cinder - thinking about their next encounter  hadn’t even occurred to her yet.

Yet here she was, being offered bait which smelled distinctly of arsenic. Glynda grit her teeth.

Ozpin’s name flashed on her screen.  _ “Glynda? Are you still there?” _

She dismissed it with a rapid flick before pausing - no more rushing into things. Slowly, with care, she typed out, “I need you to look into something for me. The damage to the CCT was repaired, correct?”

_ “The damage to the system, yes. The tower won’t be rebuilt for some time. What’s this about?” _

“I think Cinder Fall has this number. I’d like to find out how - and if her transmissions could be tracked. Could you put someone on this? Urgently?”

_ “I’ll do so immediately. Your scroll is still working?” _

“She’s just sent me something. My scroll is working fine, but assume she knows what we’re discussing.”

_ “What did she send you?” _

“An invitation.”


	7. Chapter 7

Glynda delayed as long as she was able.

Between chasing paths of logic to their end and the occasional nap, Glynda killed the rest of the night and the better part of the next day - but she felt no more prepared for what Cinder had in store for her.

And with both she and Ozpin operating under the assumption all her scroll’s messages and calls could be monitored, she hadn’t spoken with anyone since Oz assured her he’d try to figure something out. Before, it hadn’t bothered her so much, but with so many questions swirling through her head now, she would have appreciated someone with whom to share them.

Dressing in her own clothes after enjoying the free range of motion and lightness of what her host had provided her, she even considered not going. She checked the location on her scroll again, folding the gifted clothes with her Semblance until not a wrinkle remained. It was another part of the wastes, as equally unmapped as this one. She estimated it would only be a few hours on foot.

There was no telling what waited for her there, but Glynda knew what she might find: answers.

With that in mind, she tidied up the rest of the room, making the bed and gathering up what little she had. Downstairs, she met her host and did her best to let him know she was moving on. Eventually, he seemed to understand, and he took the garment from her with a respectful bow.

Making her way back out of the city, she noticed the townspeople regarding her with the same reverence as before, but nobody spoke to her or tried to stop her from going. She put it out of her mind and fixed her eyes on the horizon, checking her scroll again to make sure she was heading in the right direction, and started walking.

Along the edges of her vision she saw faint wisps of shadow; Grimm in faraway sand dunes, watching her every move, but reluctant to approach. Perhaps Cinder’s command still bound them to remain only as pinhead spots against the blue sky. There must have been hundreds of them.

Glynda considered herself lucky that they did not move in to attack, or she might be late to her meeting.

As the sun continued its arc towards the horizon, she checked the time on her scroll, again and again, feeling like she was making no progress through the wastes. The fifth time, a message flashed on the screen, and Glynda’s gut lurched, immediately apprehensive.

A closer inspection revealed it was Ozpin, not the unknown number from before, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, opening it curiously.

“ _Your scroll is safe to use. Call me._ ”

He’d managed to find something, then. She dialed his number without a second thought.

“Glynda. Are you able to talk?”

The sound of his voice took her by surprise after so long without seeing him. Her shoulders relaxed by measures, some small, nearly forgotten warmth filling her chest. “Yes, Oz. What have you discovered?”

“A breach in the CCT’s network. It seems Cinder Fall intended more than just a temporary crippling of our system.”

“She hacked the CCT?”

He hummed. “Correct. She’s been entering and exiting the system at will over the last four weeks. Your scroll is only the most recent of those she’s accessed.”

Glynda felt her heart jump. “Can you track her activity?”

From the other side of the line, the creak of metals signified Oz had leaned back in his chair. “Yes. As of now, the focus has been on expulsing her from the program, but we’ve been examining what traces she’s left behind.”

 _Finally_ , a lead. “And?”

“Are you familiar with the Hill of Roses Massacre?”

Glynda stopped, the name invoking the vague feeling of remembrance. She closed her eyes and searched for the source, tracing her memories as though trying to recall a long abandoned file.

“The war,” she said at last. “It was the triggering event for the Great War. I learned about it in history.”

Close to three hundred years ago, at the height of pre-war tensions, the efforts by the kingdoms to cap the anti-monarchy sentiments only inflamed the populaces. When martial law stripped people of their freedoms, protests began, racing across continents like wildfire, two igniting for each extinguished.

Those who gathered at Hunter’s Knoll had been no different than the others, save only that they counted among them a number of Hunters and Huntresses of renown. They covered the hill, known for its daffodils, and demanded that they, like the flowers, be allowed to live and grow and flourish, and that the world would be a more colorful place for it.

But unlike the other protests, this one wasn’t dispersed with arrests and the threat of force. The Hunters and Huntresses proved too capable to be taken by enforcers, and after three days of remaining at a stand-off with kingdom enforcers, the order was given to withdraw altogether.

Enforcers had been gone no more than a half hour when the order to return came, and when they did, they found only corpses of those who had occupied the hill. Their bodies had split apart, almost as though from the inside, and the hill, once yellow from the daffodils, had been dyed as red as roses with blood.

Even if no one could explain how they’d been killed, there was little doubt who was responsible. For the first time in decades, the world erupted in open conflict. The Great War was waged and won, but to this day, the Hill of Roses Massacre went unexplained, even the most accepted theories unable to account for why the auras of the victims - especially the Hunters and Huntresses - hadn’t saved them.

If Cinder was looking into it…

Gears cranked on the other end of the receiver, and Ozpin gave a tight exhale. “That’s correct. Cinder Fall has been digging into top secret databases and extracting massive amounts of information pertaining to it. As of now, she’s stolen things even I don’t have the clearance to view.”

Scarcely able to believe such a thing even existed, Glynda forced herself to begin walking again, eyes drawn to the horizon where Grimm continued to pace. “Do you have any idea what she’s after?”

A pause. “Perhaps.”

Glynda waited. She was accustomed to waiting. She was accustomed to being forced to be patient. After a month of hunting down Cinder Fall and entangling herself ever deeper in the mystery which surrounded her, Glynda did not want to be made to be patient.

“ _Sir_.”

“I don’t want to mislead you, Glynda. I know as much as you do about the Hill of Roses Massacre, but… Once, I knew someone who might have known more. Forgive me, Glynda, but I don’t want my suspicions to cloud your instincts here.”

Glynda ground her teeth. _Something_ would have been better than nothing, but - she held her tongue. Ozpin was right. He usually was, but it made it no easier to swallow that he might be withholding something from her.

“Alright,” she said at last. “Then I need to be going.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then: “Be careful, Glynda.”

When she hung up, more questions swirled through her head. She was tired of questions. The thought of abandoning this quest for motive and method danced through her mind, attractive as a lure, but she forced herself to banish it, turning her eyes to the horizon instead. She still had miles to cross before she arrived, and it would be better not to torture herself with things unknown the whole way.

Just as the sky was taking on the oranges of sunset, and Glynda began to fear she wouldn’t make it, a black shape rose from the horizon, stretching across the empty terrain to end abruptly on both sides. Glynda almost couldn’t believe her eyes - nothing that expansive should survive out here - but as she moved closer, she found the city was no trick of the mind.

It was a proper city, nothing like the waypoint she’d come from, with well kept walls and parapets and even figures moving atop it. Towers reached for the sky behind the safety of those walls, and from their necks tangles of wire descended into the lower reaches of the city like webwork, each adorned with lights or colored fabric. Even from here, Glynda observed the glow which suffused into the air above the city; the dark of night would be unable to touch this place.

Her hurrying steps were cut short when she remembered what awaited within the city’s walls - no matter that the place itself seemed more mirage than reality, she needed to be careful. According to her scroll, she still had a half hour to find her way, and she consulted the coordinates again.

Approaching the gates, Glynda found them open in welcome, swarms of people moving through straight, even streets. The sentries regarded her with little more than wary looks; perhaps if they knew what shadowed her just out of sight, they might have shut the gates entirely, locking her and the Grimm out.

But with the encroaching dusk, it was impossible to see the Grimm’s dark forms, and she entered the city without incident, hoping the gates would bar behind her if only to keep the Grimm at bay.

Once inside, she clung to the edges of the road, trying to gain her bearings with her scroll, but she could hardly take her eyes away from the sheer number of people here. Had they existed here all along? And more importantly, how had they flourished so, when she’d just visited another town, so desolate and barren?

Frowning, Glynda noticed that the throngs of people seemed to be moving en masse in one direction: towards the location Cinder had sent her.

Slipping in among them, she followed their route, checking her scroll constantly, frowning at the constant bump of shoulders, the too tight quarters. As tall as she was, Glynda saw their destination long before she should have, her eyes widening in sudden understanding.

A great lake, black as the night sky and peppered with the reflections of lights strung across it, sat in the center of the city, so vast it could swallow one of the towering buildings around it without so much as a ripple. Not stopping until the dusty toes of her boots touched the water, she marvelled at its existence, at once realizing how the city had grown to be the oasis it was so far from civilization.

From the waterfront, Glynda spied the location Cinder had sent her, its face adorned with a sign Glynda couldn’t quite understand. The area was well lit, and the people who filled the streets were dressed in colorful, billowing coats to fend off the night’s chill. Glynda had been expecting a back alley or an abandoned warehouse, but this was almost too much to take in at once, the sounds and smells of a city coming alive with the night disorienting.

It occurred to her that she ought to have kept the purple and gold robes from the last town. In her plain white shirt and dusty boots, she stood out even in this crowd.

With that in mind, she stuck to the shadows at the edges of the streets, yawning alleys and darkened alcoves which might have threatened others. Instead, she moved within them silent as a cat, her eyes flickering between the meeting point and anyone who moved too quickly or spoke too loudly.

Finding Cinder Fall here would be difficult, Glynda noted, turning down a narrow path which was mostly concealed from sight. But if Cinder stuck to the plan, she wouldn’t need to.

Not that Glynda counted on Cinder sticking to the plan. With the knowledge Cinder could control Grimm - especially when there were so many prowling beyond the walls - and Winter’s warning about the aura suppressants still swimming through her thoughts, Glynda told herself to be ready for anything - specifically, Cinder’s worst.

Hovering on the edge of a pool of light cast by the drape of one of the many illuminated cables crossing overhead, Glynda considered her options. She could see the location up close now, watched as people entered and exited through dark, tinted glass doors which revealed nothing of what the inside held. On the glass in white, a stylized snake formed an ouroboros.

She still didn’t have much of an idea what waited within, but she had quite a few reservations about using the front door.

Resigned to finding another way in, she darted through the light into the safety of the shadows on the other side and stalked around to the building rear. There, she spotted a second door, opened more frequently than the first as people deposited trash in a nearby dumpster, their black clothes detailed in silver and white, an ouroboros stitched between their shoulder blades.

Others came out just to smoke, but each time the door opened, the sounds of metal and raised voices escaped, drifting out to Glynda’s spot across the street.

She frowned.

Hard to breach unseen, especially since she’d stick out even more once she was inside. Her only chance would be to find an inconspicuous spot with a good vantage of the rest of the building, but first, she needed to get inside.

As a huntress who’d been trained in both subtlety and stealth, Glynda had a few ideas.

The next person who stepped outside was thrown roughly aside, the door flung open as Glynda stepped inside, not pausing to make eye contact with anyone. She hurried through the well lit room which smelled strongly of spices. From the corners of her eyes, she caught sight of reflective tables and knives of all shapes and sizes with fine wooden hilts, but before she could see more, someone within hollered something in her direction, and she stole through a doorway lined with black beads before she could draw anymore attention.

Unlike the first room, the second was larger, the ceiling raised into a dome, and the lighting was just dim enough that shadows collected around the pillars along the edges where drapes of bloody red cloth hung. In the center of the room, a massive brazier burned golden orange, something soft and earthy rising from the bed of soot and ash.

Around it, tables sat low within the ground, circles cut into the ebony floor, lined with cushions and filled with people with glasses of bubbling gold in their hands.

Glynda froze where she was, somewhere between confused and overwhelmed, people bustling all around her in that same black and silver uniform from before. Music drifted through the air, but the voices of those seated at the in-ground tables rose above it, the room full of chatter and eager conversation.

On the tables, platters of steaming food were deposited by those in the black and silver uniform, and something in Glynda’s head clicked. Clutching her crop and half concealed by the wrinkle of an enormous curtain, Glynda found herself in what could only be a restaurant.

And then she noticed Cinder.

Tucked away in one of the lowered tables,  only the tops of her shoulders were visible, the bare expanse of flesh glowing in the light of the fire. The black, precise edges of a tattoo sloped down between her shoulder blades, and others wrought in red trailed down her arms. She had her head turned, hair thrown over one shoulder, but although Glynda couldn’t see her eyes from here, there was no mistaking her profile.

Above her, a man - a server - offered her two menus, which she accepted without complaint, setting them both on the table, one in front of her and one beside her. Glynda couldn’t help herself. She slid along the edge of the room, ignoring the stares she was beginning to attract.

From this angle, she could see more of Cinder, her eyes trailing down from the neck-high cut of her black dress to the swell of her bust and the bunch of fabric at her waist.

And then Cinder noticed her.

Her head turned abruptly away from the server, and Glynda, lurking at the edge of the room like a shade, went stiff from head to toe. White-knuckled, she gripped her crop without dropping Cinder’s flame-touched gaze. The fire in the brazier would rise like a snake coaxed from the ashes, the heat growing in the room until it burned just to breathe, and Glynda would have to save herself, wrapping herself in aura as it encircled the room, not satiated until it had gripped its own tail -

 _But_ \- it didn’t.

Cinder regarded her with a sweep of her eyes, from the crown of her head to the soles of her boots and back again - and then she smiled.

Not her usual smile, not a sneer with too much pleasure, too much twisted delight. Her incisors barely showed now, tucked away neatly behind painted lips, a simmering of something which usually flared. In the light of the fire, Cinder should have been beastial, stark and severe, alive with cruelty, but there was no menace to her, no intent which crawled across the back of Glynda’s neck.

Cinder smiled, and Glynda felt a sweat prickle between her shoulder blades, more alarmed than ever.

With an incline of her head, Cinder clearly beckoned Glynda, dismissing the server with a wave of one gloved hand. The man stood watching them curiously for a moment longer, his eyes flickering between Cinder and Glynda, but even as he finally turned to depart, a startling quiet overcame the restaurant.

Acutely now, she could feel the gazes of the other servers. Even those seated at tables paused in their chatter, the steaming meals before them left untouched while Glynda floundered on the edge of the room, utterly out of place and growing more conspicuous by the moment. Distantly, Glynda felt heat creep up her neck which had nothing to do with the roaring fire in the center of the room, and if only to do something other than stand there, she abandoned the pillar at her back to move into the room proper.

Cinder watched her slow approach without rising, propping her chin up on one hand, the other laid across the table - both where Glynda could see them. From where she was, Glynda couldn’t see dust woven into her dress, scrutinizing every inch. In the absence of dust, Cinder’s clothes would burn like everything else, but even like this, she could hardly be called unfit for battle. Glynda knew what harm her hands wrought, and she couldn’t dismiss the growing apprehension that she was walking right into some sort of trap.

As Glynda examined Cinder, Cinder beheld Glynda. She observed her stiff steps, the way she clutched her crop like a lifeline, but where Glynda was rigid uncertainty, Cinder exuded liquid calm.

When finally Glynda stood over Cinder, there was an uncomfortable silence, one which Glynda didn’t know how to break.

Cinder saved her the trouble.

“I’m glad to see you made it on time,” Cinder said effortlessly, reaching over to pat the space next to her. “I hope you don’t mind a fireside table.”

Glynda didn’t move, her jaw locked. She opened her mouth to respond, but all that fell out was:  “Um.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Cinder continued, nonplussed. “You don’t seem to mind a bit of _heat._ ”

Glynda lacked the ability to even respond in monosyllabics.

“Why don’t you sit down?”

Something about the suggestion struck Glynda as an incredibly sound idea; the rest hit her as what would possibly be the worst decision she could ever make in this situation.

Not that she understood the current situation, not in the least.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Glynda said, “I - don’t think I should.”

“Oh?”

Asked as though Glynda’s misgivings were strange and unfounded. Cinder still had her hand on the spot next to her, which, in Glynda’s experience, was close enough for her to bruise ribs or dislocate shoulders, not to mention what she could do with her flames.

Glynda was about to tell her so when the glint of something around Cinder’s neck caught her eye. A chip of jade rested against her sternum, so familiar Glynda couldn’t stop herself from reaching up to touch the notch in her ear.

“That’s my - ”

“Oh, this?” Cinder touched the ornament as though pleased Glynda had noticed it. Leaning back into her seat, she lifted the chain it hung by, smiling sharply. “With how easily you parted with it, I wouldn’t expect you to still consider it _yours_. As much as it compliments your eyes, I fear I’m quite attached to it.”

Glynda felt her brow twitch.That sounded suspiciously like something Cinder would say right before she drove her knee into Glynda’s gut. She waited for the hidden blade, the flare of heat at her back from the brazier, but the only thing she seemed to be victim to was the increasingly weighty gazes focused squarely on her.

She swallowed.

“You really ought to sit down, Glynda,” Cinder offered, releasing the chain and nodding toward the spot next to her. She hadn’t looked this pleased since their fight in Forever Fall Forest. “There’s no need to make a scene.”

Unbidden, Glynda’s eyes darted around the room, confirming that she was, in fact, making a scene. Clearing her throat, she cautiously stepped down into the booth, hesitating a moment longer before actually sitting down directly across from Cinder.

Cinder hummed her approval before asking mildly, “White or red?”

“What?”

“Wine, Glynda,” Cinder said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “When our server returns, I’ll need to tell him what we’ll be drinking tonight.”

“Drinking?” The gears in Glynda’s head turned and turned.

“I would hardly subject you - or me - to a dinner without a drink.” Cinder reached for her menu and pulled it closer, the blaze of the fire at her side making her seem larger, her body washed in half-shadows and warm hues. “I’ve been wanting to visit this restaurant for a while, you know. I’m relieved you didn’t do anything foolish when you saw me… It would have been a shame to see it burned to the ground without so much as a taste.

“So. White or red?”

Glynda’s gaze cut across the high-necked dress, down towards the glint of her earring around Cinder’s neck. Blinking, she said, “Water.”

Clicking her tongue as though disappointed, Cinder lifted her arm to recall their server, the sudden movement driving needles of fear beneath Glynda’s skin, her whole body tensing with the expectation of a blow. Those amber eyes didn’t miss a thing, a smile quirking Cinder’s black lips as the man returned, her gaze never abandoning Glynda.

When she spoke, her words adopted the precise, unerring sound of the waste’s natives. She said something which didn’t resemble _water_ at all, and the server answered with something Glynda had no hopes of understanding. Cinder responded conversationally, and finally the man jotted something down on a pad pulled from his waist and left once more.

Around them, chatter began to return, people only occasionally casting curious glances in their direction, but Glynda couldn’t take her eyes off Cinder long enough to truly pay attention.

“Dinner,” Glynda said simply, her fingers still toying with the grip of her crop beneath the table.

“That is what I said.”

“That’s what you called me here for. Just dinner.”

Cinder bat her lashes, smiling sharply. “If I wanted blood, I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of making reservations.”

Their server returned a moment later with a full bottle of wine and two cups, bending to set the thin necked glasses in front of them both. Popping the cork off of a dark vintage pulled from some dusty cellar, as evidenced by the cloudy glass, the man began to pour for both of them, as if this were exactly what had been asked for.

When both the glasses were half-full, Cinder spoke to the man again. He left the bottle for them , and Glynda narrowed her eyes from across the table, watching as Cinder picked up her glass.

Cinder cradled it by the neck, more delicate than Glynda would have thought possible, and lifted it in a toast.

Glynda didn’t move.

Cinder’s expression flickered into displeasure, lowering her glass to her nose. “You’re ruining the mood, Glynda.”

“I don’t believe you,” Glynda said firmly, crossing her arms across her chest. There was no cataloging the way Cinder moved now; it was all unfamiliar, completely at odds with what she knew about Cinder Fall. None of it resembled an attack, a lunge, but all the same - “I saw the Grimm following me from the last city. You made them do that, didn’t you?”

With the Grimm in play, even if Cinder power didn’t swell beneath the heat of the sun, she still could overwhelm Glynda.

Yet Cinder didn’t look up from her wine, swirling the dark liquid in her cup before bringing it to her lips, the flash of teeth reminding Glynda that she wasn’t as docile as she claimed.

“They’ve been following you for some time now, haven’t they? That’s hardly _my_ fault.”

“You command them,” she accused.

“They’re driven by their natures - and it’s in their nature to pursue you. You ought to know by now that there’s something about you that’s simply _irresistible_ to Grimm.” Cinder leaned forward, pausing as though to allow her words to sink in, but Glynda only frowned, confused. Something about the way she said it made Glynda feel as though there was a weight to that statement that went over her head, but in the next moment, Cinder set aside her glass and touched the menus before her. She cleared her throat. “I had hoped we could enjoy a pleasant evening _without_ discussing business.”

Beneath the table, the brush of Cinder’s heel against her calve made Glynda freeze, the answering smile from Cinder showing too many teeth. Pulling her leg away, it took every ounce of control for Glynda to keep her expression neutral, but Cinder seemed perfectly delighted, rather resembling the cat who got the cream.

She picked up a menu, regarding it with a sweep of her eyes, her smile lingering, and after a moment of measured silence, Glynda asked, “What are you planning?”

“Whether to order the lamb or to try their alligator. What do you think?” Cinder tucked her hair behind one ear, looking up over the top of her menu, vague frustration pinching her lips. With an exaggerated sigh, she said, “If we must speak of unpleasant things, I’d rather do so over a meal, wouldn’t you?”

Glynda set her jaw. “Do you really expect me to believe you only came here for dinner?”

Her only response was a menu slid across the table, the tap of black nails on polished wood.

Nevermind what Cinder had said about the Grimm, this presented a puzzle Glynda couldn’t unravel. Yet with an expectant gaze weighty upon her, Glynda reluctantly picked up the menu, scanning it briefly before realizing that this, like everything else out here, was written in the variant language developed in the wastes.

Her brow furrowed, uselessly running her eyes over the words. Just as she’d given up on trying - ordering what Cinder got would be sufficient, as she didn’t plan on eating anyway - Cinder made a sound of realization, a little _ah_ which drew Glynda’s attention immediately.

“You can’t read this, can you?” She patted the spot next to her. “Come here, I’ll help.”

Instinct told Glynda to stay right where she was. But it also told her that whatever answers she hoped to obtain from Cinder wouldn’t come until this charade she seemed so intent on acting out had concluded.

Finally slipping her crop back into its sheath, Glynda slid around to the other side of the table, careful to keep six inches between them.

“These are the entrees,” Cinder began, sidling closer so their arms brushed against one another.

Her finger trailed down Glynda’s menu, pointing at a dish and explaining what each was. Glynda didn’t speak, the heat of her proximity reminding her of the flames she could conjure at will. This close, her aura would barely be able to protect her should Cinder take the opportunity to strike.

But she didn’t.

The blood-red markings descending down her shoulders glowed faintly, almost as if they were living flames, something about them brushing surreal. Not tattoos then. They had to be something more; an echo of a memory surged in her, the way they’d flared with light as Cinder had commanded the Grimm away.

“Are you listening?”

Cinder’s voice came with something dangerously close to true unhappiness, that sneer familiar, dangerous.

Taking note, Glynda nodded. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

The answer didn’t soothe the annoyance from her, but instead of lashing out with plumes of hellfire, Cinder reached for her glass of wine, taking another long drink. “I hope you don’t mind a bit of _bite_ to your dish then.”

With a shake of her head, Glynda watched as Cinder hailed the server again, passing off their order with the efficiency of someone who’d been speaking this tongue for years.

When she had finished, Glynda dared ask, “You know this language?”

“I’m clearly babbling just to fool you,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

Mocking was something Glynda understood better. It was easily identified and stowed away, ignored. “You’ve been here before then.”

“When I was younger...” Cinder’s eyes flickered to the other side of the table, where Glynda’s glass still sat untouched. Pushing her own towards Glynda, she said, “Must I divulge my entire past to convince you to dine with me?”

One pale eyebrow rose a little higher. It certainly wouldn’t hurt.

Accepting the glass - it couldn’t have been poisoned, as Cinder had nearly finished it already - Glynda swirled the wine thoughtfully. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Before you answer, you should know your company is decidedly unpleasant when you ask questions. Continue, and I can assure you the night may become equally as unpleasant.”

Glynda froze, feeling that unnatural heat of that gaze and reasoning out exactly what Cinder meant. She put the glass to her lips instead, drinking deep of the wine and letting it linger on her tongue. After a long day of walking beneath the harsh sun, anything should have been thirst-quenching, but Glynda found it hard to swallow even so.

“It’s rather austere,” Glynda said, passing the wine back to Cinder.

“Desert wines. Did you expect something fruity?” Her smile returned by measures, the light of the fire catching on the jade strung around her neck. It looked better there than in its original place, and Glynda’s thumb caught in the notch in her ear before she realized she was moving to touch it.

Glynda watched Cinder lift the glass to her lips and drain the final dregs, their gaze unbroken.

Their server returned with their meals then, two steaming platters of soft meat drizzled with a light gravy, their side something tough and fibrous enough to grow even here. If he was surprised by their changed position, he didn’t mention, only staying long enough to set the plates before them and refill Cinder’s glass of wine from the bottle.

With the arrival of food, hunger surfaced in her. Glynda didn’t intend to eat, but her mouth watered at just the smell.

From the corner of her eye, Cinder moved, picking up her utensils and carving the first slice from the meat to bring to her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed, a deep hum of approval building in her throat, and Glynda looked once more at her own portion.

Rather than risk it, she reached for the wine again, taking a sip to burn away the thoughts of food with the strong taste.

“We have our meal,” she pointed out, the rim of the glass a breath from her lips.

Cinder opened her eyes, brows dipping. Swallowing, she turned to face Glynda fully. “Do you recall what I said about questions?”

She nodded. “That wasn’t a question.”

Golden eyes narrowed dangerously, but Glynda didn’t balk.

“I know you’re researching the Hill of Roses Massacre.”

Black lips twitched, hot choler racing across her expression before being smothered like a blooming flame. Flatly, she asked, “Oh?”

It was a question, an invitation to say more, but from the strained way her mouth formed the word, it might have been a warning, an arrow poised right at Glynda’s throat. Her hand drifted to the grip of her crop, fingertips brushing the leather hilt, and Cinder followed the movement with a tightening of her lips.

“You’re interested in something that happened a long time ago,” Glynda continued. “And you have the ability to control Grimm. You’ve been letting me follow you across Remnant, and when you had the chance to kill me, you didn’t. I want to know why.”

The flame of the brazier blazed, the heat rolling off it in waves, but Glynda didn’t blink even as Cinder’s shadow grew longer, her face more severe. For a split second, she saw it: the strange markings running down her shoulders smoldered, the beginnings of a true inferno, slithering across her flesh in the flickering light of the brazier. Down her arms and at the hollow of her throat, they all threatened to ignite, an immolation which would consume the entire city.

Her grip found the hilt of her crop, squeezing it until her knuckles turned white, the air between them thick and hot with tension and the faintest traces of sulfur.

“You seem to know quite a bit about me,” Cinder said, pupils thinning until they were nearly reptilian. “But I’d much rather talk about _you_ , Glynda.”

Glynda didn’t move.

“Do you like fairytales, Glynda?” When she didn’t respond, Cinder’s gave a feral grin, her nails poised like claws atop her thighs. “I loved fairytales when I was a child, but I’ve come to appreciate them even more as I’ve grown older.

“One of the things I’ve learned from fairytales is that in any good story, there are some things which never change: there is always a dragon - ” She gave a flash of teeth, too vicious to be a true smile. “And a witch.”

“You aren’t answering me,” Glynda said.

Cinder’s response was razor sharp, quick as the crack of a whip. “That’s because you didn’t ask a question.”

Glynda’s mouth tightened, but Cinder leaned in, evaporating what little distance remained between them, her knees pressingly hotly against Glynda’s. Her exhale carried the scent of the wine and her meal.

“Fairytales often borrow elements from real life,” Cinder continued. “Such as those two components. There will always be a dragon - and there will always be a witch.”

Raising a brow, Glynda couldn’t disguise the sarcasm in her tone, “Are you supposed to be the dragon?”

That burning gaze bore into her, and Cinder’s lips curled. “We’re talking about you, Glynda Goodwitch. We’re talking about this story’s Witch.”

Cinder’s hands flexed and relaxed, smoothing the wrinkles she herself had created in the tight sheath of her dress covering her thighs, and though Glynda’s eyes tracked her every movement, she found no threat in it, nor in the way Cinder inhaled sharply, preparing.

“In a fairytale, witches are terrifyingly powerful. When all seems lost, they weave strength from nothing and brew chances for humanity to overcome evil, and the same is true of real life. When our world was still young and Grimm haunted every dark shadow, people lived in fear - until Witches arose and offered humanity a fighting chance at survival.

“They sought the Grimm, and the Grimm sought them - opposites drawn to each other through instinctual attraction. Witches drew vast amounts of Grimm and slew them with abilities even aura could not explain. They guarded humanity against the terrors of the night, allowing humans to flourish and grow, to build cities and walls and academies to train those who would battle Grimm alongside Witches.”

Glynda watched her talk, not entirely sure she understood the point of all this, but reluctant to question it and provoke Cinder further. It occurred to her that she had never heard Cinder talk uninterrupted for this long before, nor had she ever seen her so animated. Each sudden move brought a chill of fear to Glynda’s spine, always sure that _this_ was it, _this_ was the time Cinder would strike and the fight would begin, but it never came.

Was this also part of whatever plot Cinder was in the middle of? Some kind of tactic to break her? Glynda watched every movement like alert prey expecting an attack, witnessing every rise and fall of Cinder’s chest and the way her dress caught the light from the fire.

“Hunters and Huntresses were born and learned to harness dust as their weapons, and as the centuries passed, they became the main force to stem the tide of Grimm - and Witches began to disappear. Finally, there was but one, and when she saw humans would be left alone with their darkness, she raised her soul into the sky and became their light, ensuring even in the blackest night, humanity would know they were not alone.”

Glynda was used to seeing Cinder coolly smug, cruel even, but what shone in her eyes now was more like excitement. Both of Cinder’s hands were in clear view, gesturing as she spoke, and Glynda found her grip on her weapon loosening despite Cinder’s proximity.

“The moon, set among the stars, became a testament to her love for humanity, and a testament to all the Witches who came before her. Her sacrifice embodied all that a Witch was or could be. Humanity was without its guardians… But not for long.

“A generation later, another Witch was born, and she devoted her life to the protection of people. Over and over, a Witch would die only to be reborn decades later in a cycle that never stopped, as certain in this world as the existence of Grimm.

“And now, in this day and age, we have our own Witch, Glynda. Someone who acts as a beacon for Grimm and commands unparalleled abilities - well, _mostly_ unparalleled.” Her smile was sharp and smug, the distance between them narrowing. “Can you guess who I’m talking about?”

Glynda leaned back in her seat, brows dipping. “You already said you were talking about me.”

“So blasé,” Cinder said, retreating back as well - but not by much. Her expression cooled in increments, and she turned to grasp their wine glass, bringing it to her lips. “Our generation’s Witch, and you don’t believe any of it.”

Glynda shrugged. “I’m flattered you think I’m something out of legend, but it’s just a story in the end - and an unpopular one. I’ve never heard it.”

“There were a few… Complications in the last few Witches. I’m sure you understand if people forget when their sworn protectors have all but disappeared.” Cinder gave Glynda a long, assessing look and then offered her the rest of the glass. Glynda hesitated, unsure, but finally took her drink, swallowing it down and warming her cold insides. “Though, of course, another thing I’ve learned is that in any hero’s story, there must be a drawback.”

A new intensity flared in Cinder’s stare as Glynda set aside the empty wine glass, and it hit her that Cinder was gauging something.

“There must be some catch, some cost of glory. Even a hero’s strength must have some price. Along with their incredible abilities and durability, Witches gained a powerful tool to lure Grimm to themselves.

“Well, I call it a _tool_ , but it’s not exactly a voluntary thing. You see, a Witch is essentially a beacon for Grimm; she is both the lure and the trap, drawing in countless Grimm before slaying them all with her magic. And what, pray tell, attracts a Grimm more than the darker sides of human emotion?”

Cinder smiled again, her hand finding Glynda’s arm. Glynda didn’t move, stalwart despite the unpleasantly coiling recognition in her gut. Even through a glove, Cinder’s hand was warm, but that was nothing compared to the fire in her eyes.

“A Witch is, in essence, an emotional void.” Cinder’s fingers gave a slight squeeze. “A hollow person, designed for drawing Grimm into her emptiness.”

The barb that drove itself into Glynda’s insides was ice cold. She paled, knowing she was making it ridiculously easy for Cinder to read her but unable to stop herself from flinching away from Cinder’s touch as though startled. The only thing that rushed into her mind was the all-too familiar numbness she herself invoked while hunting, and her shock faded into nothingness as if on command.

Composed, she said: “I have feelings.”

Cinder didn’t comment on her abrupt retreat or the calm which overcame her, slowly refilling their glass and taking a sip before speaking. The silence felt long and heavy. Glynda already felt as if she had lost.

“Well, I said that as an absolute,” Cinder said. “It’s really not. For a Witch, retaining emotion – especially positive ones – is …challenging, shall we say? But…” Gold eyes swept over her again, as brief as ever. “They _can_ feel. But it’s difficult, and no one observing from the outside could hope to understand it. Back in those ancient times, Witches ran with Witches, kin in their void, teaching each other how to feel happiness. Now, there is only one.”

This time, Cinder waited, silently watching over the rim of her wine glass. Her hand was gone and Glynda felt only cold. Barbs like rose thorns grew in her guts with each inhale, brambles smothering her vitals, intestines full of nettles. Every swallow tasted like ash.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, each syllable perfectly measured to mask the way her lungs longed for heaving breaths.

“I thought that if anyone should know all this, it should be the current Witch, don’t you agree?”

Glynda would have loved to come back with a _how do I know you’re telling the truth_ or even an _I don’t trust you_ , but her tongue was bound. Everything Cinder had said that could apply to Glynda had been true. She would have adored clipping Cinder’s satisfaction at being right, smothering the smug grin she was positive was brewing beneath that neutral face, but – Cinder _was_ right.  Instead of saying anything at all, Glynda checked the time on her scroll.

“Planning on leaving?” Cinder asked mildly.

“If your only goal is to waste my time telling fairy tales, then I have better things to do.” Glynda’s tone was plain, and she couldn’t help but feel that her own monotone was only continuing to prove Cinder right.

“And here I thought _I_ was your only objective,” Cinder shook her head. Her knees brushed with Glynda’s again.

Glynda didn’t respond to that. Instead, she said, “I do have one question.”

Cinder arched a brow expectantly, the corner of her mouth finally pulling up in the smirk Glynda had predicted. “Just one?”

“Who told you that story? I’ve…never heard it before.”

A chuckle and a light but warm pat on her cheek was the reply. “Someone who’s lived long enough to remember. Although, there should be _one other_ person who should know… ”

“Excuse me for a bit,” Glynda said, stilted politeness tumbling out of her unbidden. She rose from her seat, stilted as if she hadn’t stood up for years.

“For a bit? You’re coming back?” Cinder seemed surprised. “I thought you were leaving!”

“You’ll find out.” Glynda allowed herself a smile, though she feared it looked a little strained. Without another word, she made her way from their table and towards a sign pointing towards the toilets.

The restaurant’s bathroom was awkward when it was empty, too large and cavernous for just one person. Glynda leaned against the wall with a deep exhale, trying to make sense of her evening so far. Finally, she gave up, taking her scroll from her pocket instead.

Cinder seemed to have gotten what she wanted – whatever _that_ was – and had let her go without any trouble. Her surprise at that didn’t have much hold on her spinning thoughts; nothing did, and Glynda had already forgotten by the time she found herself in the bathroom.

A Witch. Something so ridiculous, like a children’s book, a legend of humanity’s beginnings that had surely been twisted and embellished over the years. Part of her couldn’t believe Cinder had the gall to present this fantasy as some life-changing truth. Another part of her was scrambling to try to take in that same truth as reality.

The most staggering thing of all was how easy it had been for Cinder Fall to get to her using this story. The part of Glynda that believed her was far stronger than the part that doubted. As far as Glynda could tell, Cinder didn’t stand to gain anything more by telling her a work of fiction than she did by telling the truth. Truth be told, Glynda didn’t see how Cinder gained anything from telling this story at all, but that was beside the point. She had said so much that resonated with Glynda as truth that the rest of the details didn’t really matter.

Her knuckles were white around her scroll, and she resented the faint tremor that ran through her hand at the memory of Cinder’s words. _Someone who’d lived long enough_ …  An unpleasant lump in her throat warned her that her emotions were building too fast. She assessed her situation, calmly monitoring herself even now, trying to locate a reason for being upset.

It was humbling to consider the possibility that she, with all her unrelenting strength, was merely one piece in something larger. The idea of _belonging_ to some system, even one that sounded as made up as this did, was a powerful notion.

Glynda Goodwitch had always been alone. Out of all the people in the world, Cinder Fall was the one who provided the first key to understanding _why_.

As she opened her scroll, she realized she was smiling. Bringing her free hand to cover her mouth, she instead became aware of the wetness on her cheeks, tears rolling freely even as she lifted her glasses to wipe at her eyes. She felt a vague confusion, not sure what she was feeling to make her cry like this. It didn’t feel like sadness, but a familiar twinge of bitterness remained all the same. It wasn’t happiness, not truly.

Instead of lingering on it, Glynda opened her scroll. There was one final check to do. She quickly typed a message to Ozpin and sent it.

 _“_ Do you know about witches?”

The reply came near instantly, but she almost didn’t dare to look. If he didn’t know, that removed some credibility from Cinder’s story, as there were few things in this world Ozpin hadn’t at least _heard about_. On the other hand, if he _did_ know, that would corroborate Cinder’s claim, but it would also mean that her friend had been withholding this from her for her entire life. Glynda didn’t know which option she preferred.

One meant learning no more than she already knew, essentially wasting the journey here and the night, but ensuring that – at least in Glynda’s mind – Cinder was wrong and Ozpin was still right. The other... meant accepting that her only friend had refused to help her.

She opened the message.

_“Yes.”_

Her heart dropped like a stone, the new shift in her emotions leaving no room for doubt over what she was feeling. For the first time in her life, she felt as though Ozpin had betrayed her.


	8. Chapter 8

Glynda never returned.

Cinder knew the moment she began the story of the Witches that Glynda wouldn’t, but the hint of a pipe dream persisted in the scented smoke which filled the room. Nursing her meal slowly, she bided her time, eyes flickering towards the curtain behind which Glynda had disappeared every so often. It was a fool’s desire, to see her return when Cinder had so precisely cut away that chance, her hand steady as a surgeon’s.

Witches were hardy, resilient, but even they responded to cruelty, and Cinder had dealt that aplenty for Glynda’s sin of far too many questions.

Even now, tangles of wire and the snap of curved, copper fangs sprang to her thoughts every time she closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. The Hill of Roses - how did Glynda find out she was pursuing _that_?

An unpleasant question, surely, with too many unpleasant possibilities to consider now, with such a fine meal before her.

Stubbornly, Cinder pushed them from her mind for now, conceding that she had waited long enough. With a telling frown, she reached for the wine, the last vestiges of it swirling in the bottom of the bottle, and tipped it into her glass, a libation to the night which could have been.

Lifting the glass to her lips, she finished it off and then returned to her meal, taking her time with it and ignoring the pointed looks the waiter shot at the cooling, untouched plate beside her each time he came to check on her.

It would be a grave insult to the chef, but she barely had the stomach to finish her own portion, let alone Glynda’s as well.

When she had finished, Cinder called her server to take away the dishes and bring the tab, covering it and leaving a little extra for the man who had waited upon her. Then she rose from her seat without another word and made her way to the door alone, suddenly craving the cool, crisp night air.

It hit her full force the moment she stepped from the restaurant, her aura flaring instinctively to keep the chill from her flesh. Outside, she seemed to breathe easier, falling in among the crowds. Her feet found old and achingly familiar pathways through the city, all of them leading her around the lake, where the broken reflection of the moon painted the surface with beautiful luminescence.

Another night, she might have lingered to look, losing herself in the memories of observing this same sight decades ago. Another night, her destination might have been one of the many houses she herself purchased, each filled by ragtag bunches of Faunus.

She’d visited them once, fifteen years ago, on her first return to the desert which she’d grown, and lifted them from the squalor of street living with her accumulating wealth. It had been a token of repaid debts, and in truth, an apology for the swiftness of her departure, one day there and the next gone, seeking the vast lands she knew must have existed beyond the walls of this city, beyond the wastes.

When she’d left this world behind, it had been of necessity, being drawn from the safety of a group she might have even called family. The Faunus she lived with here had been varying ages, some owl-eyed, others bearing the large ears of fennec foxes, yet in them, she had found the vague shade of her mother, whose horns grew long and sloping, nightmarish to any human.

That they hadn’t forgotten her after so many years was no question - upon her last visit, they’d greeted her with open arms, welcoming her into the homes they’d made of the houses she’d gifted them.

It had been quaint, domestic even, something warm humming along her skin which had nothing to do with the heat broiling through her veins. As with Emerald and Mercury, they were irreplaceable, yet as with Emerald and Mercury, they had no place in her machinations, a facet of herself kept tucked away.

It was why she sought a rented room at the far reaches of the city now, why she arrived in a dark and lonesome abode, hospitable and yet empty. Standing in the doorway, she might have been a shade, a charm of ill-fortune imposed on this attempt at hospitality. It was a reminder: she did not belong, not here in this room, not here in this city.

As if by instinct, her fingers rose to her hairline, sliding along her scalp until she found the growths she was looking for: four solid stumps of keratin and marrow. Cinder’s mouth tightened, surprised to have found them growing so quickly; it seemed like less than a year since she’d last filed them down, but already they threatened to rise above the curls of her silver streaked hair.

Left unattended, they would grow steadily on until anyone could see them, and at least the thought, she cringed.

Silent as a cat, Cinder began to undress, her mind set on the task ahead of her, her bones all aching in anticipation of it. The first thing to do would be to find something suitable with which to work, she knew, slipping out of her outfit and finding her usual, dust-infused dress.

It had been freshly laundered as per her request, and she slipped it on, leaving the black one - purchased just for this night - on the bed without a thought.

The second thing to do, she told herself, as she began to gather her scarce few things, was to find somewhere safe. Nowhere in the city, that was for sure, but she knew this desert as she knew Forever Fall Forest, as she knew the underbellies of cities where none but the White Fang could tread with impunity.

And she had a place in mind.

As she picked up her scroll, she noticed it flashing with messages, but for now she didn’t bother to open them, sure it would just be more messages from Emerald, or, if he was feeling particularly unhappy, Mercury. _Later_ , she conceded.

The last thing to do would be to ensure she had plenty of time to recover; dealing with her horns drained her like nothing else, and a safe place to suffer through the aftermath in solitude was critical.

After tonight, she didn’t expect Glynda to return with any true haste. In truth, there was a kernel of doubt as to whether she’d return at all, but Cinder crushed it swiftly.

_Glynda Goodwitch won’t abandon the hunt,_ Cinder told herself, heading back towards the door, flicking off the lights as she went, her bag slung over her shoulder. Failure had always bitten deep, but this would amount to wasted decades, every lesson learned for naught. _If it were anyone else, they’d never climb from this mire, but she doesn’t know how to stop._

Cinder’s heels clicked upon the doorstep as she closed the door behind her, leaving the key in the lock and returning to the market area to find a file for her needs.

*

The rough back-and-forth of the file always sounded like it was grinding through her very skull. Cinder’s Aura stopped the bleeding, but the pain lingered beyond her control. The flat file dropped from her hands, slick with blood, and clattered against the stone floor. Every beat of her heart brought a new wave of dull ache.

A gentle breeze flowed through the cavern, rustling the tall stalks of grass just outside, and for a moment Cinder considered the stream she’d heard trickling among the rocks earlier, the first sign she was beginning to leave the wastes behind her. There, she could clean the blood from her face and hands, drink and regain some strength. Weariness drove its claws tothe bone, but she was nothing if not determined, swaying as she took her first steps towards the mouth of the cave.

A weight pressed into her side, steadying her stride, and she dug her fingers into matted black fur. Bracing against the beowolf as swirls of exhaustion robbed her of balance, Cinder felt another press its side into her back to support her. They could smell her blood even better than she could. They could feel her suffering.

When the hazy black splotches faded from her vision, Cinder waved the two Grimm away. They drew back to let her walk on her own, but remained close as shadows, following her through the darkness just out of arm’s reach.

A cloud moved across the sky, a single splotch to blot out the light of the moon, but from it, small drops of rain fell, the faint pitter-patter like pins falling in an empty room. The night should have been alive with the sounds of life, but Grimm reigned here, and the world seemed empty save her and the Beowolves.

Cinder narrowed her eyes at the horizon, the pang of something vacuous hollowing out her chest. It crawled across her flesh like nails, a warning and war cry both, and Cinder found herself tensing as though preparing for battle. Eerily, it seemed to beckon her into the plains, into pursuit, stirring a hunger in her bones new and unfamiliar to her.

Her lips pursed. The echo of Glynda’s empty soul had grown, detectable even to Cinder now.  

Staring into the rainy darkness, unnatural stillness in her limbs, Cinder resembled a predator about to pounce. A tremor travelled all the way down to her bare feet.

The stream ran off an outcropping in the wall just above the entrance to the cave, and she dipped her hands into it, collecting water in her palms. The cold bit into her flesh, and she let it run through her fingers, taking the blood with it. Against her skull, the water seemed cruelly cold, but it numbed the pain, running over the the four small horn nubs which remained, filed down as closely as possible. On the floor, a river of used water ran yellow-brown, dribbling out and into the dusty soil.

Cinder rinsed her hands in the stream one final time and turned away from the call of the Witch, returning to the Grimm which gathered at the mouth of the cave, their gazes all pointed toward the lone figure of a decaying tree, its trunk short and stunted, the branches thin and spindly.

“Leave her,” she huffed, hooking her fingers on the long spine of a Beowolf.

Reluctantly, they trailed at her heels, following her back inside and settling around her, their bodies unusually still, like rigor mortis sunk into each of their joints. Cinder closed her hands around bunches of black fur, pressing her body into the angles of the Grimm’s, curling up between spikes and plates. Grimm had little concept of rest, and they did not sleep. Remaining still like this for so long was not in their nature, but even they sought their nests when she commanded it.

This place had always been a lair for Grimm. It had been since she had been born, or maybe because she had been born. The ashen ruins of city below had been her first hometown, but the sloping plains around it was where she had spent her first years of life.

The mountains emerging from the ground turned sand to rock, the interim between allowing the only hardiest of vegetation to grow, but compared to the wastes which were behind her, it might have been an oasis. She knew each rock and sandhill by heart, carved into her soul, muscle memory from decades past reminding her of every path. Even now, after so long, the place brought a sentimental sting to her heart – a feeling of being home.

The only part missing, she lamented, burying her face in the flank of a Grimm so the smell of damp rot and cold smoke filled her nose, was Hati.

Normally, she didn’t see him for months at a time, but she never doubted he was far behind, her trail easy enough to follow. They circled each other like dancers, convening to share secrets and successes and then parting, always certain they’d find each other again. This time she’d gone looking for him, and though she lacked his superb tracking ability, she’d been sure she would have met him by now.

Worry wearied her, exhaustion biting deep, and she closed her eyes, trying to put the tale about the attack on Vacuo from her mind. There was still time to find him, and if Glynda remained as she was, there was no doubt Hati would know to seek her out.

“Stay here,” Cinder said, her voice muffled into fur.

While she snatched what hours of sleep she could, the Grimm would undoubtedly feel the constant tug of the Witch soul, drawing them to her.  Lucky, then, that their obedience to Cinder was far stronger than their hunger to kill. If any of them were to go after Glynda in the state she must be in – even if _all_ of them went – it would be a lost battle from the start.

She dreamed about it, black fog and bright magic mixing until the air was too hot and damp to breathe. When she awoke, it took several minutes for her alert heartbeat to settle. The Grimm she rested against was lying in the exact same position, but the stiffness in her joints told her she’d managed a few hours. It was still night outside, but she knew that this was all the sleep she would get, especially with the nagging tug of the Witch.

The rain outside fell more consistently now, and the tenderness of her horns had grown stronger too. She ran a hand through her hair without thinking and flinched, gritting her teeth.

Cinder, staring into the dim cave among dozens of identical yellow eyes, still felt the Witch’s presence nearby. It had not moved. She had half expected an attack by now - something - but Glynda seemed content to wait her out.

The cruel rift Cinder had surely sowed had done nothing to keep her from the hunt, but the reluctance to approach her came as a surprise. Whatever she’d gleaned from the tale Cinder spun had changed something vital in Glynda even if it hadn’t dissuaded her from pursuit.

An unsettled soul was prey, especially so far from those who might protect her. Playing games with the weak isolani now seemed pointless, but even Cinder hadn’t expected to feel the reverberations of her ploy across her flesh like jagged nails.

The animal part of her recognized the weakness for what it was: fatal.

Cinder shifted, turning over, and thought once more of Hati. He would see it too, see the fault lines along which the Witch would crumble in on herself, and with that he would be satisfied. Cinder was different.

With a sharp exhale, she pushed herself up from the brood of Grimm who gathered around her, dozens more farther in the cave raising their heads to watch her approach the mouth of the cave once more. Golden eyes settled on the laughable excuse of a tree no more than twenty meters from her, all her bones creaking in protest.

The first step into the rain was marked with the hiss of water evaporating at the heat pouring from her flesh. Unlike in Forever Fall Forest, this was nothing, a drizzle at best, but the sensation of wet dirt beneath her feet still made Cinder sneer, a new quickness pushing her on.

It was not a long walk, nor a difficult one. All she had to do was follow the roaring thunder of her senses, the drive that had grown with each passing minute.

The tree rose up before her, taller than she’d first expected but still no proper oak or pine, and Cinder found Glynda in the crook of two branches, her back pressed to the trunk. Her body was mostly covered in what appeared to be a waterproof poncho, staring intently at absolutely nothing even as Cinder approached her perch, her blood running hot, her mouth tight and stern.

Glynda’s eyes did not as much as flicker down, even though she definitely knew Cinder was there. There was something unnerving about her now, the blankness of her face almost uncanny. Even through the rain, Cinder could see that there was nothing in Glynda’s eyes, and a chill crawled down her spine. This was a Witch at her rawest and lowest.

Before, Glynda had brimmed with determination and power, honing her focus into a weapon’s edge. Now, she was little more than a husk, directionless.

Cinder couldn’t help it. She watched her for a long moment; Glynda had been lethal before, but now she resembled those Grimm in the cave, forced into a mockery of rest, stillness unnatural on a being so accustomed to motion and momentum.

Clearing her throat, Cinder said, “This strategy you’ve adopted seems rather unsound.”

The words ricocheted within her own head, and she grit her teeth, touching her temple absently, forcing herself to keep her fingers from straying into her hairline. Yet Glynda didn’t move, only regarding Cinder with a quick pass of her eyes.

Indifference bit deep. With a savage twist of her wrist, flames erupted in front of Glynda, flaring hot before evaporating into nothing.

Slowly, her head turned, and Glynda’s gaze fell on Cinder, not even a glimmer of light reflected in those concrete eyes. “You’re one to talk.”

Untrue, if Glynda’s appearance was any indication. Unbidden, a memory of time-torn blueprints flashed through Cinder’s mind, and reflexively, she smothered the image of wicked spikes. Maintaining rigid eye contact, she ignored Glynda’s accusation, shooting back with one of her own, “You aren’t looking for a fight.”

“No,” Glynda said.

“But you intend to pursue me.”

A pause. “Yes.”

She’d expected Glynda to refuse to give up the hunt, but she hadn’t expected such passivity. Prodding, she said, “How loyal of you. Ozpin is fortunate to have such a powerful ally.”

The slight thinning of her lips wasn’t the only indication the words had hit home - across her skin, Cinder felt a ripple in that constant echo, more noticeable now that the distance between them could be measured in strides.

Ozpin’s silence had cost him dearly then.

Her head ached, but she saw the opportunity presented nonetheless. “Come down here.”

Glynda had no reason to obey her, and she knew it. From her perch, she eyed Cinder, the first hint of interest flickering across her features. The strange stasis of her body shattered, body dropping to the ground in front of Cinder, landing mechanical. She straightened, the hood of her poncho disturbed from her fall, and returned to that unnerving stillness, simply standing before her.

There was no reaction when Cinder closed the distance between them, Glynda simply following Cinder with her eyes.

From here, it radiated as clearly as the heat from Cinder’s own skin, a vacuous attraction, reaching out to every cell in her. Cinder narrowed her eyes, raising her hand to Glynda’s jawline, and tilted her head slightly. Those unblinking jade eyes slanted to observe her still.

“What.” A hand closed around Cinder’s wrist, grip just shy of bruising.

Cinder examined her intently, not speaking for a long moment. Then, “Your presence out here is disturbing.”

Nothing human remained in the shell of her, everything automatic, muscle memory. If they clashed now, Cinder had no delusions either of them would escape with their lives, Glynda giving life and limb to draw blood. Yet by the same hand, there was no fight in her; reactionary, she’d only move if Cinder acted first. A lamb, leashed to her by something Cinder suspected had nothing to do with loyalty to Ozpin.

Perhaps this was all Glynda had. It was no secret the guardian of Beacon was nearly as much of a recluse as the headmaster, yet not even Glynda would be desperate enough to seek companionship in a hunt.

Something else then. Dropping her hand, Glynda released her automatically, returning to that stiff posture in the absence of Cinder’s interference. “If you’re going to follow me, I’d rather have you where I can see you. You lurk poorly anyway.”

“I wasn’t aware it was so offensive,” Glynda responded. Her gaze slid past Cinder to the gaping maw of the cave behind her. “There are Grimm in there.”

“How astute.” This talk was drawing on too long. Her head was throbbing. “Can you also divine what will happen if you attack them?”

“You said Witches were meant to kill Grimm.”

“I didn’t realize you valued my word so much.” Keen gold followed Glynda’s half-hearted shrug. “Is that why you’re here?”

Glynda didn’t respond to that, but at this point, there was hardly any need. So that was it. Chasing the trail of past Witches led Glynda right to her, docile and complacent.

If that was all it took, Cinder could fashion a noose of those old stories, dragging Glynda along until they at last reached Atlas, where she would be blessed to find the tomb of one of those Witches - and the grave where she herself would lay.

Another pang of acute discomfort struck her, and sharply, Cinder turned and started back towards the cave. “Stay here if you want, or find the will to control yourself.”

A beat passed before Glynda fell into step behind Cinder, her boots squishing in the wet grass. Awkwardly, the silence between them thickened until it was almost unbearable, but Cinder had overspent herself already, and trying to maintain conversation with someone who spoke mostly in monosyllabics wasn’t something she thought she could manage.

Which was why the sound of Glynda’s voice came as such a surprise. “You seem different.”

Cinder scoffed, stopping short when dozens of heads raised at her return, ravenous eyes all set upon Glynda. “That happens when you get stood up for dinner.” Turning over her shoulder, she shot her a pointed look. “I meant what I said before.”

As though it were an annoyance, Glynda said, “I heard you.”

Taking her at her word was easier when she hardly seemed to have the capacity to lie. A Witch this entrenched in her own hollow nature was all blunt force, tearing through obstacles with brutal efficiency. The finesse of a liar didn’t suit her.

With Glynda right behind her, Cinder led the way in among the Grimm, all of them focused upon the intruder with unerring intent. Keeping the two forces from ripping each other to pieces would be a headache of its own. Addressing the Grimm, she commanded, “Stay back.”

The Grimm she’d been leaning against hadn’t moved an inch in her absence, and without a second thought, Cinder reclaimed her place against them, levelling her gaze on the Witch.

Glynda didn’t sit, nor did she do more than met Cinder’s gaze. After a solid minute had passed, Cinder rolled her eyes and tipped her head back, conceding that whether Glynda sat or stood for the rest of the night mattered little to her.

That was when Glynda said, “You were cruel.”

Cinder didn’t move an inch, her eyes shut still. “You’ll have to be more specific than that, Glynda.”

The poncho Glynda wore rustled as she pulled it off over her head. “People who don’t want to be stood up should not make asses of themselves.”

Glynda’s roots as a teacher showed now, and Cinder’s lips thinned, no small chagrin in being lectured. If she were more inclined, she might return that those who don’t want unpleasant truths shouldn’t ask unpleasant questions, but right now, she merely pursed her lips, her head full of her own unpleasant truths.

“If you hadn’t insisted, we may have enjoyed a much different night,” Cinder grumbled at last, cracking open an eye.

The way Glynda’s expression shifted couldn’t be attributed to any true emotion, at least not one which Cinder recognized, but that she’d gotten a reaction from her at all was telling enough. “You invited me there to tell me that.”

“Perhaps.” It had lingered in her mind in the hours approaching their date, but it wasn’t until pressed that Cinder had truly decided. “But a nice dinner would have been more appreciated.”

Again, emoting seemed too difficult to grasp, Glynda working her jaw as though processing numerical calculations. Half-truths and slippery words were probably too much for her to make sense of as she was, but there was no doubting she was making an attempt, the silence drawn between them, long and unending.

Cinder closed her eyes again, huffing into the pelt of the beowolf. It took longer than it should have to muster the words, “If you intend to follow me, be ready to leave in the morning.”

Glynda considered this as well, if her continued silence was any indication.

“I still have my mission,” she decided at last.

Cinder made a sound of irritation. “To capture me?”

“To kill you, if I wanted.” Glynda’s tone betrayed nothing.

“And?”

No response.

It should have been too much to expect that she would give up so entirely, yet here they were, Glynda refusing to move against her.

Burying her face in the Grimm’s flank, Cinder said, “Then be ready in the morning.”

*

This time when Cinder slept, she didn’t awaken until the sun had begun its ascent into the sky, fingers of light cast into the dark and damp where she curled against a beowolf still.

Her limbs had grown colder in the night, but all it took was a flare of aura to banish the chill from her body, a warmth radiating with enough intensity to disturb the Grimm beside her. It raised its head, and in response she muttered something soothing, running her palm over its ribs.

The Witch had stayed, that much was clear from the persistent call of her soul even now. Cinder lifted her face from the beowolf’s side, blinking the bleary distortion from her vision until she spied a small, compact shape against the craggy side of the cave. Glynda sat with all her limbs tucked in around her body, head on her knees, back to the wall. Even now, her rest was artificial, a mockery of what Cinder experienced.

With a frown, Cinder touched the crown of her head, feeling the dull ache of her horns still. It would be days more before the pain abated completely, but she could think without feeling the throb acutely, and that would have to be enough.

Absently, her gaze trailed towards her shoes and bag tucked against an outcrop not far from where Glynda sat, eyes closed.

From here, she could see the faint blink of unread messages from her scroll, still faithfully reminding her of the messages from Roman and Mercury awaiting her.

Exhaling sharply, Cinder rose to her feet, unsteady but for a moment. The vertigo of rising passed quickly, and she moved between the eerily still bodies of the Grimm, bending to pick up her scroll and read what had been sent.

Roman’s were first, a number of them all one right after the other.

_“Who’s the mutt you sent me with the aura suppressants?”_

_“They missed the last White Fang shipment if that was what you were after. By now, that ship will be at Atlas’ shores, if not at the coordinates to fuck all nowhere.”_

_“A little love would be appreciated here, Cinder. I’m running this whole operation by myself, you know.”_

_“We’ve got a problem, sweetheart. Your black box of codes to get pas_ _t_ _Atlas patrols went dead last night. I hope you’ve got another one stowed away, or your ship won’t make it past the border even with you onboard.”_

_“Well, your shit is packed up for whenever you get here, but like I said, you’re grounded unless you think you can punch through Atlas defenses with this shit.”_

Cinder’s eyes narrowed over the texts, understanding denied until she opened Mercury’s one and only text.

_“We’re out of the CCT.”_

Connections clicked together all at once, tracing pathways back until Cinder’s head jerked up, twisting over her shoulder. This time, Glynda’s eyes were open as if expecting Cinder’s unbelieving look, her unblinking stare boring into her.

Nothing existed in that stare, hollow in every sense of the word.

With a sharp exhale, she turned on her heel, crossing the distance between them with quick strides until she stood over Glynda.

Tilting her head back, Glynda asked, “What.”

“Stood up and turned in? I regret having the heart to bring you inside, Glynda.”

Glynda rose, her joints creaking, and said, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

The Grimm shifted, rising from their positions of rest to sniff at the air, trying to decide whether or not Cinder’s ban against attacking Glynda had been lifted. In response, Cinder bit out a hissed command to stay where they were, touching her temple and gritting her teeth.

Huffing, she said, “I sent you a message.”

“Ah.” Glynda’s expression didn’t change. “I mentioned it to… You were in the CCT’s network.”

“And now I’m not,” Cinder returned. “You’ve just made things very difficult for me, Glynda. Reaching Atlas without that access…”

“Atlas?”

Cinder’s toes dug into the loose sediment beneath her feet. “Will you be telling Ozpin that as well?”

A beat passed. “I’m not sure.”

Giving a roll of her eyes, Cinder turned away from Glynda, returning to her things, a beowolf slinking closer, pressing its flank to her as she knelt by her things. She set a hand on a spine, sending it away with a grumble. There was no telling how she was going to get through the heavily patrolled Atlasian border now.

That Roman had managed to get her last shipments through before the codes went down was no small blessing, but now she and Glynda were stranded.

The sound of Glynda’s voice broke her train of thought. “What’s in Atlas?”

Cinder stuffed her scroll into her bag but hesitated over her shoes. Fingers ghosting over the glass slippers, she asked, “Are you going to follow me that far?”

The Witch was silent for a moment, her hands restlessly alternating between picking at her clothes and her torn ear. “I’m not sure.” she finally said. “Why would you let me? We are enemies.”

“Maybe to _you_ .” Cinder dragged her response out a bit. “ _I_ don’t have any reason to fight _you_ .” _Not anymore_ , her subconscious added, unbidden. “And, besides - I didn’t think you had much dedication to animosity, Glynda.”

Undecided, Cinder merely took her shoes in hand, pulled her bag up over her shoulder, and turned to face Glynda.

“What is that supposed to mean?” For the first time, Glynda emoted somewhat properly - her eyebrows pulled together and her nose scrunched up a little, and for a bright moment, even her eyes seemed less of a void. “I am here on a mission to catch you - to kill, if I have to.”

“This again?” Cinder opened her arms, gesturing loosely to herself. “You caught me.”

That gave Glynda several seconds of pause. One could only guess at the calculations racing through her mind.

“The only one with a dog in this fight is you,” Cinder continued. “And you don’t want to fight anymore. That mission doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“I have sworn loyalty to…to Beacon Academy,” Glynda said evenly.

Stubborn, though not enough, Cinder suspected. If Glynda wanted to delude herself with loyalty while blindly following her, she supposed it shouldn’t matter in the end, but still, something about it left a bad taste in her mouth.

Sweeping her eyes up and down over Glynda, Cinder finally sniffed, pursing her lips. “I’m going to Vacuo to find a way to fix this. Are you coming?”

“What’s in Atlas?” Glynda repeated.

Cinder narrowed her eyes. “You recall I said someone told me of Witches?”

A nod, and a glimmer from somewhere deep within that void.

“They’re in Atlas.”

There wasn’t even a moment of doubt. “I’m coming.”

It wasn’t a hindrance. It wasn’t even a surprise. But it was pitiful, how tightly Glynda clutched at the tatters of a legacy which fell squarely upon her shoulders, utterly alone.

Without a word, Cinder gestured toward the mouth of the cave and started towards it, Glynda falling into step beside her. The Grimm perked at her movement, and even without urging, they rose to follow the two of them, Cinder and the Witch. When they neared Vacuo, it would be necessity which would bid her to turn them away, but for now…

Together, they formed an unusual troupe, but the silence was more comfortable with more than just Glynda at her side.

“There are many stories like this, you know,” Glynda said as Cinder set them upon a path which would lead them through the mountains to the city beyond. “Hunters who are led astray by mythical creatures and turn their backs on humanity, becoming nothing but creatures themselves.”

“Am I the seductive mythical creature?” Cinder smiled, flashing her teeth briefly, though the bitterness there was unmistakable. “Flattering.”

“A beast in nature, if not in shape.” Glynda’s eyes flickered between Cinder and the Grimm. “I don’t know what you are.”

Running her hand through her hair posed a stark reminder of the sensitive horn nubs there, throbbing with dull pain at the brush of her fingertips. “You joke poorly, Glynda. I’m only what I appear.”


	9. Chapter 9

Though Cinder made it clear that she had no interest in fighting, Glynda had to admit to a sting of reluctance when she revealed her plans to head back into the heart of Vacuo. The desert had been good to Cinder, but it had not done Glynda any favors.

From just over the border to Vale, where green growth at last reclaimed the land, those harsh dunes seemed almost impossibly distant. However, the memory of how hopelessly powerful Cinder grew there was less willing to leave her, and Glynda couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking willingly to a slaughterhouse. Despite her own logic and Cinder’s promises, years of huntress training screamed trap and ambush.

Hence, she could barely hide her surprise when Cinder led them in an arc around the sand wastes, following the coastline instead. It was hot, yes, but nowhere near the sweltering heat of the exposed wastes. Even Vacuo had a flourishing coast, flowers and trees in full bloom where the ocean and its rivers finally allowed. Ducking from shade to shade, they stayed comfortable and - on Glynda's part - feeling slightly safer.

It was not home turf for Cinder in the same way the desert had been, but she looked just as relaxed. Glynda considered if it might be a deliberate kindness from Cinder. Cutting through at least part of the desert would most likely save them time, but Cinder meticulously plotted the trip around every inch of it, almost as if she was proving a point.

It was four days of walking before Glynda asked. They had not spoken often, and it seemed like Cinder was fine with that, but her eyes lit up ever so slightly every time nonetheless. So there was at least part of her that was interested in conversation - in Glynda.

“It’s faster to go through the wastes.” Glynda stated, working her jaw and remembering how to use her mouth to form the syllables of speech. A spark of interest and surprise that Glynda had spoken at all flashed across Cinder’s face. She hesitated mid-step and the pack of Grimm around her paused, too.

“Perhaps,” Cinder said, her tone unaffected, fingers finding Glynda’s jade earring still hanging from her neck like a trophy. “But it would also be a more difficult road.”

Glynda's gaze dragged down from her face to her covered throat, finding the faint line of red that barely escaped the shelter of black cloth. Clearing her throat, she forced her vocal chords into use once more. “You don't have to make accommodations. I can keep up with you anywhere.”

Cinder smiled, pulling Glynda’s attention back to her face, a flicker of delight in those gold eyes that Glynda had not simply returned to silence as she had before. “Anywhere? That was a bold claim, even for you.”

She turned and kept walking, leaving Glynda to decide whether the challenge was worth a retort. Catching up with Cinder was easy enough, but once they were side by side, Cinder’s amused sidelong glance silenced any witty response.

Letting it go, Glynda attacked a different angle: “How are you planning on getting us across the border to Atlas?”

Cinder’s amusement was snuffed out, and she exhaled sharply; a warning signal.

“I mean, there’s no way they won’t recognize you,” Glynda said, not missing the way Cinder’s strides grew longer. She could not outpace Glynda, but stubborn as she was, she refused to accept that. “Especially after that stunt you pulled at Beacon. General Ironwood will have sharpened all of his defenses to catch you and try to patch up his pride.”  The schadenfreude in her tone was unmissable, but Cinder only offered an annoyed glance.

“I have it under control,” she said curtly. “You just keep your eyes down and we’ll be in Atlas in no time.”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Glynda responded automatically.

Something shone within her at Cinder’s answering sneer, a candle’s glow right before a gust of wind stole the warm away, and Glynda stopped short, unfamiliar with the sensation. Confusion knitted her brow, and she touched her chest, surprised with herself.

Cinder noticed, demanding, “What?”

Glynda pursed her lips and looked up. “I think that was funny.”

Cinder raised an eyebrow, the Grimm around her lifting their heads as if observing Glynda all together. From anyone else, it might have been judgemental, but Cinder only watched, too aware of how unusual that must have been.

It almost felt strange to take genuine amusement from something now, after everything - a ghost of pain flitted across her heart when her scroll buzzed in her pocket, and that, too, felt odd. She ran her thumb along the notch in her ear and then put both hands in her pockets as if defying the habit.

“So…”

Cinder jerked her head away. “If you’re going to ask another question -”

“The easiest way to make them stop is to answer them.”

Cinder’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her jaw tensing as she began to walk once more. “You grew unusually spirited overnight, Glynda. I preferred it when you were...yourself.”

“You don’t actually know me,” Glynda pointed out.

“I know you well enough.”

This left her puzzled for a moment, and Cinder actually gained some distance in the time it took Glynda to get her bearings. She supposed it had been… Some time. Even Glynda had begun to lose track of the weeks since she left Beacon. But most of that had been chase, clashes for blood, and eventually always solitude. Still, she had learned, hadn’t she? Even now, she could read Cinder with ease, finding no intent to strike in her moves, no danger beneath her ever-present glare.

Glynda found herself giving in and accepting they might not have known each other, but they certainly weren’t strangers - and she kind of resented it. She let Cinder have her victory, returning to silence and falling into step beside her.

They walked for hours every day, and Glyda would have kept going into the night if Cinder hadn’t insisted on settling camp every evening. Glynda learned not to argue; Cinder’s usual demeanor was bad enough, and it got exponentially worse if she didn’t get a nap. They slept in shifts, something Glynda was used to from her team days, even though neither of them seemed to be worried about any concrete threat, especially with the shadows of Grimm constantly around them.

She supposed people like them simply couldn’t trust the night, couldn’t trust the world to treat them kindly if it caught them unaware.

Cinder’s company of Grimm were at her heels every step of the way, too; they had learned to ignore Glynda, slinking by her like fog as if she was nothing more than another tree of the forest. More than once, clumped fur and slick spines brushed by her skin, and she had to suppress a flare of hunting instincts, killing instincts, while the beast continued on its way. Everywhere she looked she was surrounded by yellow eyes and red mouths. She knew that if Cinder hadn’t been there, the Grimm would not stay back, and neither would she. It would not end well for the Grimm. Glynda was well aware of her capabilities; this small flock would only take a few minutes to exterminate.

But she kept her distance, as did they; even in the long hours of keeping watch in the night, when nothing moved except the wind through the leaves and the breath through Cinder’s lungs. In their rigid stasis, it felt as though they were standing vigil alongside Glynda.

Occasionally, when they swapped roles and she believed Glynda had fallen asleep, Cinder held conversations with the Grimm - short, clipped ones, but words nonetheless, in soft tones that only helped lull Glynda to sleep. She could never quite make out the words - maybe they were not even in her language, but instead spoken in the tongue of the wastes, Vacuo’s liquid vowels melding together like dunes of sand until Glynda had no hope of recognizing them.

Vacuo was a place of harsh, decimating sunlight and coarse sand, but along the coastline, the air was fresh. It was easy to travel in, and even easier to sleep in. Cinder took them nearer to the coast, and Glynda could occasionally hear the breaking of the waves against the shore. The rhythm of the water felt like a lullaby to settle even the most restless of souls.

She usually slept quickly and heavily, but there came nights where she found herself unable to settle down. Maybe it was the steadily growing spot of pain that gnawed at her like an inconvenient splinter even when she wasn’t actively thinking about it.

Ozpin had left that splinter to fester. Maybe it was the feeling that she was losing sight of who she trusted and who she did not that kept her up. She lay on her side, staring at Cinder’s back as if the answer was written there, and listened to her soft-spoken words. The forest around them was silent aside from the whispering of leaves. It felt like hours before Cinder turned around and saw her staring. Her eyelids dropped as if she was already tired of Glynda and she exhaled.

“Sleep,” she commanded.

“I’m trying,” Glynda said. Cinder snorted and turned away, crossing her legs.

“We’ll be in Corinth soon,” Cinder said in a low voice. “You should get as much rest as you can.”

“Why? What’s waiting for us there?”

Cinder looked back over her shoulder and smiled as if Glynda had said something strange. “Nothing. You’re just so much tolerable when you’re well-rested.”

Glynda rolled over to lie on her back and exhaled deeply. Through clusters of branches and leaves she could see the sky. The moon hung low above, scattered and broken, and she frowned. “Tell me more about Witches.”

The words left her mouth before she could think it over. When Cinder gave a short laugh, she felt her cheeks grow slightly hotter.

“I didn’t know you needed bedtime stories, Glynda,” Cinder said in her telltale mocking tone. Glynda could picture her expression from the sound of her voice alone; it was a terrible smirk, annoying to look at, and Glynda earned it easily by embarrassing herself.

She remained silent, regretting her request, regretting letting her guard fall for just the second it took honesty to slip through.

Glynda was understandably surprised when Cinder spoke again. Her voice had lost the mocking edge, smooth as silk under the star-speckled sky. She did not look back, and Glynda gave up looking at her, returning her stare to the heavens.

“There was a Witch walking this same path some centuries ago,” Cinder said. “Before even Ozpin was born.”

The sting that broke through her chest reminded her that she was alive.

“She made a terrible mistake. A lot of Witches’ lives don’t end well.”

Cinder stopped talking for several minutes. Glynda remained silent, fearing that if she interrupted the story even to coax more of it out, Cinder would cut her off like usual. She was hesitant to even breathe. She was a Witch, and this was part of her legacy - she wanted to hear it, _needed_ to hear it, and though she was bursting with curiosity, she held her tongue in fear.

“She lived in a time of growing strife, and she, like those who came before her, was duty-bound to safeguard humanity,” Cinder finally said, her words slow, measured. “Like a vast sea, a Witch’s soul offers limitless Aura. Even when absolutely exhausted by a matching force, it can generate incredible amounts of Aura very quickly. I felt your Aura recovering even after the beating you got some time back.”

As if in response to the praise, Glynda’s Aura swelled, and she heard Cinder breathe a short laughter. “Don’t show off,” she said.

“Sorry,” Glynda replied quickly, thinking back to that time and remembering how quickly she’d begun recuperating after her clash with Cinder in the wastes.

Cinder’s eyes flickered up towards the sky. “This Witch’s soul burnt so brightly it blinded her.”

“Tell me about her.”

After a moment of consideration, Cinder scooted back and motioned for a Grimm to join her. It laid down behind her, next to Glynda, allowing Cinder to rest upon it like a pillow. The damp, disgusting feeling of the Grimm was negated by the warmth Cinder exuded.

“Her name was Bacia,” she said.

Glynda repeated the name, burning its syllables into her mind.

“She was a Witch like you - unable to get a grip on the void inside of her, always flitting from one kill to the next, desperate to find meaning in it.” Cinder inhaled deeply. “She was born many years ago, as I said - a simpler time, maybe, or a crueler one.

“She swore allegiance to no Kingdom, but offered her power to humanity when it was asked of her.” Cinder combed her fingers through the Grimm’s pelt. “To humanity, she was a blessing, but to Grimm, her scythe resembled a reaper’s. She killed countless Grimm while she lived, more than even you, Glynda.”

Glynda sat up slowly, leaning into every word. “You said she made a mistake.”

Cinder exhaled what might have been a laugh. Her fingers clutched at the base of a spine, eyes darting away. “She did. People begged her to help them, and trusting their word, she agreed.”

Glynda’s brow bunched as Cinder turned to face her completely, leaning across the back of her Grimm companion. That gaze was molten gold, but Cinder’s expression was stony. Her breath was hot on Glynda’s face and she stared with an intensity that made Glynda think back to her old teammates telling each other ghost stories at night.

“She broke her soul for them, and they used her power against other humans. When she realized it, she disappeared. Her name became synonymous with the Grimm she hunted, and she was viewed as a wretched scavenger, welcome nowhere. People forgot what Witches were meant to be, only remembering what that power had done to humans.”

An unfriendly smile tugged at Cinder’s lips. “Perhaps they had finally seen Witches the way Grimm do.”

“That’s not everything,” Glynda prompted. “There has to be more.”

Cinder’s eyes flickered down, aglow in the low light, and she would look quite like a Grimm herself if she hadn’t been so human. “As I said, Bacia disappears off the record after that,” she said, sounding distant and impassive. “I think it’s a sure guess that she died soon thereafter, either from her shattered soul or her guilt.”

She was incapable of dwelling on the story, hungry for more, desperate to know. Glynda grabbed Cinder’s shoulder loosely as if pathetic begging would convince her. “Other stories? You must have others. Right?”

Cinder’s eyes were empty, predatory. A perfect mirror of Glynda’s usual expression; void of emotion, but loaded with hunger. “Of course there are more. Centuries of stories, Witches born and reborn from this single damaged soul. They don’t end well.”

“Tell them,” Glynda pleaded, and Cinder merely laughed and drew away, sliding back to her relaxed Grimm cushion rest.

“Maybe later,” Cinder said. “You should go to sleep, Glynda.”

She couldn’t.

* * *

 Glynda crested the hill first. Cinder glanced up from her messages from Emerald to see her turn and look expectantly in her direction. “I see Corinth.”

The Grimm remained fixated on Glynda as though she were all there was in the world, but they at least didn’t stray from Cinder’s instructions, keeping close to her.. Cinder set a hand on the beowolf faithfully trudging by her side, and stowed away her scroll with a click of her tongue. “I told you we were close.”

Cinder joined her and saw the craggy pass open all at once, revealing the valley which surrounded Corinth, Vacuo’s capital in both sovereignty and commerce. Closer to the coast, the land was covered in hardy pines and thick, low lying bushes, and Corinth, seated upon a severe jut of rock with solid walls wrapping around the city in layers, was a fortress overseeing the whole of the valley. The trees and brush were cut away from the walls to leave no places to hide for Grimm approaching the city.

Though its three sets of walls hinted the city might have once been meant for war, in this age, it was a bustling airship port, the cool ocean winds cutting through the mountains providing ample currents to ride. Even from here, a glance at the sky showed ships coming and going, each loaded with people or merchandise. If there was anywhere to get a ship to ferry them to Vytal to pick up that final shipment Roman currently oversaw and then onward to Atlas, it was here.

“You know the area well,” Glynda observed. Her fingers twitched at the Grimm which crowded around them, but she didn’t move otherwise. “I thought we were lost.”

“You honor me with your confidence, Glynda,” Cinder drawled, inspecting the well worn path bending down into the forest, vegetation creeping in no matter how often Grimm tread here. “Come on. If we keep moving, we’ll be there before the sun sets.”

Glynda shot her a pointed look as she stepped off the path. “Where are you going? The city is that way.”

Cinder rolled her eyes. “Did you expect to walk through the front gates?”

A raised brow was her only answer.

Clicking her tongue, Cinder sneered. “First you insult my sense of direction and now my notoriety?”

The Grimm followed her more readily than the Witch, but after coming so far in Cinder’s wake, an unusual route was hardly enough to stop her. “Of course. You can’t get in the city by normal means.”

“I am an international criminal, you know,” Cinder gave a crooked smile, regarding her over one shoulder before beginning down into the valley, the earth growing soft beneath her bare feet.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Glynda said, although her actions seemed to indicate otherwise. “You seem proud of that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand the politics of the underworld,” Cinder said, nearly haughty. “But you should know that your assignment to pursue me was quite the compliment. Usually none but the White Fang are regarded so highly. Growing powerful enough to warrant a huntress of your renown’s attention is a feat most will never achieve - nevermind that your hunt has been so _unsuccessful._ ”

Glynda made a face, catching up easily. “I caught you.”

“If you would call this being caught,” Cinder retorted, to which Glynda seemed to have no adequate answer.

Finally, after a few moments of silence, Glynda asked, “So how are we getting into Corinth?”

Clearing her throat, Cinder asked, “Do you know how Corinth used to profit?”

“Ore,” Glynda answered immediately. “They mined the mountains around the city and refined it to be sold.”

Nodding, Cinder said, “They lifted ore from the stone beneath their own city. Most of the mine shafts were closed off as hazards when they stopped being used, but they still exist, if you know where to look. If you aren’t squeamish about enclosed spaces, they can be used as channels to enter and exit the city for - ”

Understanding clicked in Glynda’s eyes. “Unsavory individuals.”

“ _\- people who don’t wish to be seen._ ”

“Right.”

What was that glimmer of something flickering across Glynda’s expression, an ember where there ought to be only cold ash? Cinder wouldn’t know - it was gone by the time she blinked, staring at Glynda in disbelief.

Glynda simply met her gaze, waiting.

Scoffing, Cinder said, “I think I preferred you when you didn’t talk.”

Without missing a beat, Glynda responded, “You’ve said.”

A week ago, Cinder hadn’t believed Glynda capable of lies, let alone banter. Yet as they’d wound through mountainous paths and inched ever closer to Corinth, the pin-prick sharp awareness of Glynda’s presence had faded, growing fainter and fainter until Cinder couldn’t feel it at all. Perhaps it was hope which encouraged her to crawl from the mire of her own nature; as Corinth edged closer, so too did Atlas.

Cinder frowned, but before she could say more, the Grimm at their heels came to a sudden halt and raised their heads, ears pricked. Their long snouts all pointed in the same direction, bodies honed into acute focus, muscles bunched beneath their shaggy pelts.

Glynda’s voice was the only sound, empty of intonation but unmistakably a question. “Cinder?”

All at once, the Grimm took off, sprinting down past the two of them into the thicker foliage below, crashing through the vegetation and sending birds scattering into the air. They disappeared within seconds, the sound of their dash through the forest echoing through the valley for minutes or moments.

Cinder’s gaze remained trained in the direction they’d ran, her mouth tight with surprise.

“What was that?”

She hadn’t ordered them away, and with the Witch at her side, she couldn’t believe they’d leave by their own discretion. Possibilities raced through her mind until - _Hati_.

“Nothing,” Cinder said, swiftly avoiding her gaze. Glynda answered only with an arch of her brow. Searching for a lie, she offered, “They couldn’t have come with us - unless you wanted a repeat of the last time Grimm breached the walls of a city.”

Glynda seemed to consider that. “No.”

“Good, because I don’t intend to sacrifice them against Corinth’s defenses.”

Cinder began down into the valley again, strides long and brisk. It had lingered in her thoughts, the possibility that Hati had been a casualty of the Grimm attack the Faunus from before had mentioned. That he was safe was a great relief, but if he was here - if he was amassing Grimm - what did that mean for their plans?

A lump of discomfort settled in her throat, uncertainty locking up her joints.

Glynda caught up again, her longer legs outpacing even Cinder’s haste. “You’re protective of them.”

“I didn’t expect you to mourn my unwillingness to provoke a fight.” The forest grew thicker around them as they descended into the valley, Cinder listening for the tell-tale trample of brush beneath heavy feet. The woods around them seemed to be holding its breath, even the insects absent, but of Hati or the Grimm, there was no sign. After moment, she added, “They are tortured enough without having to suffer pointless battles against overwhelming odds.”

“Grimm?” Glynda frowned. “Grimm are unfeeling.”

Cinder shot Glynda look over her shoulder. “Are you claiming to be the expert?”

A pause. “Okay, that’s fair.”

From the way Glynda pursed her lips, Cinder could tell there was more she wanted to say, but Cinder cut her off as they continued down into the heart of the valley.

She stopped mid-stride, looking around and finally asked, “Can you feel any Grimm, Glynda?”

Glynda halted as well. Her face opened in acute surprise. Slowly, she said, “I’m not the expert.”

Cinder could have roasted her.

The sound of disgust she made seemed to only stoke that little ember from before. Glynda tucked a lock of pale blond hair behind her ear and gave Cinder a knowing look.

“Never mind,” Cinder huffed with a roll of her eyes. “We’re close anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

“I thought you could feel them too,” Glynda said, falling into step beside her once more.

“I’m no Witch,” Cinder said, mind wandering to her horns, the bases raised like indents in her scalp. The pain was negligible now, but even so, they were never far from her thoughts. “Only Witches and other Grimm could feel their presence.”

“But those markings on your skin - ”

“Fed the weak flame of my life when I was a child.” Absently, she touched the hollow of her throat, the fabric of her choker silky and warm, the eye drawn in blood beneath radiating inhuman heat. “And remind the Grimm that I am to be obeyed.”

“Oh.” A simple statement, yet Glynda’s brow furrowed slightly, her gaze lingering on the edges of the markings which rose onto her shoulders. “I don’t feel any Grimm near us.”

Cinder raised a brow. “Not going to ask more?”

Shrugging, she responded, “You wouldn’t answer anyway.”

“So you do learn.”

“You’re very committed to remaining mysterious,” Glynda said, the sneaking traces of a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. “I would not deprive you of that pleasure.”

Lips twitching, Cinder responded, “Is that so?”

“I suspect you enjoy refusing to respond.” Glynda nodded, her next exhale sharp, like a sigh except lighter - a laugh? “So yes.”

Cinder found herself staring.

“What?”

With a sharp turn of her head, she looked to the path before them, only realizing she had the necklace she’d fashioned from Glynda’s earring clutched between her fingers after a long moment.

Schooling her expression into something stern and severe, Cinder took off again, a glance through the canopy above them yielding the tip of Corinth, the city rising high above them. Another 400 meters, and the forest would disappear, nothing but salted earth beneath their feet, but farther ahead, Cinder spied a steep shift in elevation, almost as though the tectonic plates beneath their feet had shifted, forcing the ground up.

There, hidden among a quarry of stones and creeping vines, an entrance to the mine shafts running beneath the capital of Vacuo stood mostly obscured by three heavy, leafy branches leaning against it. Anyone who didn’t know what to look for might have passed it by, but Cinder approached with old familiarity.

“Here we are,” Cinder said.

Touching the bark on one of the thick branches, newly set by one of the groups which used this entrance, Cinder glanced back at Glynda, somewhat unsure. She needn’t have been. Glynda moved without her asking, her Semblance pulling away the obstacles until the path was revealed to them, the dark stretching endlessly before them.

Cinder stepped into the darkened passage without hesitation, her thoughts drifting Emerald and Mercury, their faces swimming behind her eyes. Warmth effused through her chest, light beginning to seep from her as though her skin were the thin paper of a lantern’s cage, a flame blazing within, and steadily, the passage began to fill with light.

“Convenient,” Glynda chuckled, ducking into the passage as she followed Cinder’s lead. “I didn't know you could do that.”

Cinder held on to the thought of them and glanced back at Glynda. The smile on her face seemed to burn itself into Cinder’s mind right next to the others, and she closed her eyes briefly, trying to keep her focus, and found it hopelessly difficult to chase the Witch from her mind.

“It got brighter,” Glynda observed. “Are you showing off?”

“It doesn't take a lot of Aura.” Cinder deflected the comment and hoped it was still too dark to make out the worried crease in her brow. “Come on. Let’s go.”

* * *

Corinth bustled, even at night.

Though they’d cleared the dismal labyrinth of the mine shafts before the sun had truly set, Cinder had insisted they wait until night descended to leave the perfectly pleasant house they emerged into.

“I don’t think it will matter,” Glynda observed, glancing up from the sparse furniture within to one of the windows, peeking through the drawn curtains.

Beyond, the city buzzed. Dark, sloping streets crowded between narrow lines of houses and stores. Fluorescent lights hung from wires strung between the rooftops, the incessant buzz of flickering red signs displaying the names of stores like mosquitos, even tucked away as they were.

“It matters,” Cinder huffed, crossing her legs in the only chair in the room. “Stop pacing.”

Glynda frowned, shooting her a look. “I’m not pacing.”

Cinder only waved dismissively, returning to her scroll, her eyes intent upon the screen, and so Glynda returned to the window, trying to remember what she knew of Corinth.

The part of town they’d emerged in was older than the parts she remembered from the few missions that had carried her into Vacuo. From here, she could see the dilapidated walls of the buildings just outside, cracks crawling up the side, the glimmer of trash or the stalks of weeds filling them faithfully. The road seemed suitable for foot traffic only - of which there was plenty, even at this time - and from what she could see, the path itself appeared to switch between newer concrete and ancient cobblestone.

The shops were of two sorts: the first was open to the street, bright lights stealing away the dark as wares were hung on racks, and shopkeepers sat at the opening to call people into their stores. The second sort seemed to be the opposite: blending into the shadowed parts of the street, visible only when a door opened to allow trios or couplets to file inside, the neon lights from within flashing for mere moments before disappearing behind a solid aluminum door.

Compared to the faceless nightlife and the bustle of activity all crammed onto one street, Glynda found the plain house around them rather dull.

She stepped away from the window, her hands curling and uncurling at her sides. “If we want an airship, we need to go higher.”

Cinder frowned, not looking up. “We don’t need just any airship.”

Glynda moved closer, hovering over her. “Who are you talking to?”

There was little doubt this annoyed Cinder from the way she set aside her scroll and looked up at Glynda, exhaling sharply. “I’m arranging a meeting. If you need something to do, check the rest of the house for things to sit on. I suspect the White Fang will send a small group.”

“The White Fang?”

“We need something exceedingly illegal, Glynda. Who _else_ did you think I’d have to bargain with?”

That was fair, she supposed. The concession must have been clear on her face because Cinder immediately returned to her scroll, tapping away.

Glynda didn’t exactly like the idea of letting Cinder order her around, but it would be nice to have a place to sit. With that in mind, she turned around and slipped out of the main room, marching through the dim corridors in search of something that would serve as a chair.

The door to the basement from which they’d emerged still hung ajar, and Glynda pushed it closed with her Semblance as she passed. She’d expected something broken down and forgotten, but apparently half-way liveable was more the norm for Corinth; the electricity worked and there was running water, though Glynda was so far unimpressed with the lack of other amenities it boasted.

With a grunt, she pushed open one of the doors, the narrow window within allowing slivers of artificial light from the street beyond through the curtains. She didn’t even need to reach for her crop to fling them open, mechanically surveying the room before moving onto the next.

The house was small, but a quick sweep of the lower floor revealed nothing of use, and Glynda turned her attention on the staircase which wound up to a higher level. She had to turn slightly to make it around the curve, but eventually she climbed to the top and threw open the door.

Instead of a second story, she found herself on the roof, the city’s sounds and smells hitting her harder now that she was outside. There was a rickety guardrail around the edges of the roof, and there, at one corner, two chairs surrounded by dozens of smoked cigarette butts.

Glynda moved closer, stopping to look again at the city below, the masses of people hooting and chattering just beneath her.

As a spectator on high, there was something oddly comforting about the sight of them all.

Then her scroll chimed, and Glynda was reminded that she was not meant to be enjoying herself. She didn’t need to even look at it to know it was Ozpin again - his messages had slowed since she’d last spoken to him, but they still came, sure and steady.

Slowly, she pulled her scroll from her pants pocket, gazing down at the screen, the little light in the corner flashing to alert of her of the messages waiting for her. Most of them were from Ozpin, as expected, with a single unread message from Winter Schnee.

For a moment, she considered reading them - it was the first time in a few days that she’d had the chance to charge her scroll, something which she did automatically rather than with the intent to use it - but then she remembered the bitter feeling of knowing that her oldest friend had known all about her and hadn’t said a word.

His immortality had always set him apart from others, afforded him reputation rather than rapport - knowing that her roots were similarly unique might not have stopped her from skating the edges of human interactions, but perhaps it would have saved her the years of feeling lacking for it.

Instead of touching the screen, she turned her gaze skyward, tilting her head back.

The moon might have been a beacon, full and low and wholly luminescent. The stars around it paled in comparison, their lights faint and twinkling, easily eclipsed by the passing airships which hovered overhead.

It was hard not to return to what Cinder had told her before, allowing it to permeate her thoughts, an airy sensation brewing between her ribs. _Bacia_. She wondered if the Witch had looked upon this same moon and felt similarly.

There was no telling whether learning more about her kin would be the salve for her soul, but right now, it was what she wanted most. Getting to Atlas with Cinder as soon as possible was _all_ she wanted.

A dart of movement roused her from her thoughts. She narrowed her eyes, searching through airship lights and stars for a bewildered second before she found it again. Something massive was gliding across the heavens, blotting out the stars where it went, a denser blackness than even the nighttime sky. From all the way down on the city roofs, Glynda could not even begin to guess at the true nature or scale of the thing. For a dizzying moment, it felt like she was staring down into a deep ocean abyss, watching the languid circling of god-knows-what in the depths.

When the shadow streaked across the moon, its shape became more defined - it had wings, and a ragged outline as if clad in feathers or spikes - but it only lasted for a brief moment before it left the moonlight behind. Clearly not an airship - a Grimm? Surely, the city’s alarm systems would have gone off, had a Grimm passed overhead - but perhaps an ancient Nevermore could fly so high as to remain undetected, while still carving an impressive silhouette against the moon.

The all too familiar feeling like nails raking across her neck made every hair stand on end, but there was something new to it, something stronger. It felt as though her very soul was being pulled into the slipstream, a whisper away from breaking free of her body to join in the flight. As she lost sight of the dark shape, the feeling subsided, but her eyes remained fixed on the sky as if seeking answers.

It wasn’t until she caught a whiff of sharp copper that she snapped out of it. Her free hand had been clenched at her side the entire time, and she forced her fingers open, seeing the blood welling up in crescent moons cut into her palm by her own fingernails.

Strange, definitely. Stranger still though was her almost instinctive urge to mention it to Cinder.

Frowning, she looked back down at the scroll in her other hand and then pocketed it once more, picking up one of the chairs and turning back towards the door.

When she entered the staircase once more, she heard voices from below.

“- _you_ ought to be thankful we didn’t arrive with a squad. Liabilities are erased, Ms. Fall.”

Glynda shimmied past the tightest part of the descent and continued without pause into the main sitting room. There, Cinder remained as she had been, leaning back in the single chair with an air of distaste, her eyes slits, her fingers drumming across her knee, but across from her, three men in the distinctive masks of the White Fang stood.

Cinder’s retort was blade sharp. “It’s my understanding that a failure to return accounts only for a lack of loyalty on the part - ”

At Glynda’s appearance, she trailed off, meeting her gaze with a flicker of gold. From the corner of her eye, Glynda saw the White Fang had noticed her as well, all three of them turning in tandem.

“Ah, there you are.” Though her tone remained edged, Cinder’s lips quirked slightly.

“I found some chairs on the roof,” Glynda explained, sparing but a moment to glance at the White Fang. The last time she’d been this close to one of their ranks, the brawl had levelled a building. Now she strode past them and set her chair backwards next to Cinder’s, straddling it and resting her arms on the back. “I saw a Nevermore while I was up there, too.”

Cinder hummed, looking purposefully at the White Fang. “It wasn’t causing trouble, was it?”

“No,” Glynda answered, also looking that way, her expression set into neutrality.

The one in the middle - a type of deer faunus if the antlers were any indication - swallowed, his expression darkening from behind his mask. Those flanking him seemed to go rigid with apprehension, something of which even Glynda was acutely aware. In response, Cinder leaned forward.

“Lieutenant, do you need an introduction?” she asked, voice lilting into mocking tones with which Glynda was more familiar.

“I do not,” he growled. “Maikoa alerted us you were being pursued by Glynda Goodwitch.”

“Did they? If only all of your members were so faithful, perhaps they would not escape you at the first opportunity. I wish them the best in their new lives in Atlas.”

Glynda perked up at the mention of Atlas.

“The loyalty of our members is not for _you_ to question, human.” The White Fang Lieutenant gave a show of teeth, filed into points. “They have not returned from the task you assigned them, and until we are compensated, the White Fang owes you _nothing_.”

“I’m familiar with how you foster loyalty among your ranks.” In contrast to his razor-edged tone, Cinder offered only a flippant dismissal, though when she turned away, Glynda caught sight of a wrinkle in her brow, irritation clear. “And any _human_ would only be surprised if they _didn’t_ run from your loving organization.”

“Your business has protected you thus far, Ms.Fall, but the White Fang does not deal with humans who default on their debts.” Glynda watched as he stepped forward, standing tall and straight above Cinder. “I would watch your tongue if I were you. There are dozens of other Dust-dealers, and all of them more respectful than you.”

The wrinkle in Cinder’s brow grew, her lips twitching, pressed into a tight line. Glynda felt a pulse of warm air against her bare forearms.

Stiffly, she looked up at the Faunus. “I’ve been more than generous with your leader considering the Dust she’s needed. If she can’t provide me with one ship capable of making it past Atlas patrols, I have to wonder at the benefit of the White Fang’s partnership.”

His sneer could have been a snarl. “Until you have compensated us for the property lost in Atlas -”

Without giving him chance to finish, Cinder rose to her feet, quick enough to surprise all but Glynda, who’d seen the bunch of muscles along her thighs in the split second before she moved. She was half a head smaller than him, but she flared hot, invading his space even if she had to look up to meet his shadowed eyes.

“Then you can consider our partnership dissolved, Lieutenant.” Cinder’s words might have been a slap, her proximity a promise which Glynda recognized: force would be met in kind. “I’ll not suffer your company for scraps.”

The bear Faunus behind the Lieutenant let out growls, but he himself said nothing, recovering from his surprise in the blink of an eye, all clenched fists and bubbling ranchor. He wanted her throat, Glynda knew, but for Cinder’s part, she was a bulwark against his distaste, callous from her own reservoirs of spite. Glynda had forgotten this look, so accustomed to the mocking smirks or simmering stares.

Behind his mask, Glynda could feel his gaze upon her, perhaps assessing the risks of a brawl here. Did he think the three of them would be able to take Cinder if Glynda hadn’t been there? He could count her presence as a blessing then - Cinder would have burnt them black before they had a chance to draw blood.

Her expression never changed, but she touched the sheath of her crop on her thigh, and his shoulders bunched with tension.

As if Cinder had bore witness to the move made behind her back, she said, “Perhaps you should go. There is a woman in good standing with the governments of both Vale and Vacuo here, after all. With so many abandoning your ranks, it would be a shame for the White Fang to lose you three as well.”

“The White Fang doesn’t forget slights, Ms. Fall,” the Lieutenant snapped, motioning for his guards to stand down. “If I were you, I’d return from where you came. _Soon._ ”

The intricate patterns along Cinder’s dress glowed gold. “We’ll be on our way once our business here is finished. If you want to test that, feel free.”

Outmatched, the Lieutenant had nothing to say, turning swiftly and marching from the room into the hall leading to the front door. His guards followed with lingering looks over their shoulders, unaware of how lucky they’d been.

The door was out of sight, but the last Faunus to leave slammed it hard enough for Glynda to feel the house shake. Cinder didn’t move, body still held taut like a drawn bowstring, but she did exhale. When she turned around, she was shaking her head, expression darkened even as the light from her dress extinguished, the room growing cooler by the second.

Glynda considered mentioning she’d forgotten how she was when she wasn’t telling _bedtime stories_ , but something told her that wouldn’t have gone over well.

“So…” she said, watching Cinder drop into the chair next to her once more, slouching back, her legs stretched out in front of her. Glynda set her chin down on her folded arms, observing as Cinder touched her temple. “I heard you say something about Atlas.”

The look Cinder shot her was severe and silencing. “ _Glynda._ ”

“Right,” Glynda said, tilting her head so she looked straight ahead.

Beside her, Cinder exhaled heavily again, but Glynda didn’t raise her head or look back.

Finally, Cinder said, “I _detest_ the White Fang.”

It wasn’t until Glynda glanced her way and saw that Cinder was looking right at her that she realized she was awaiting a response.

Reaching for words, Glynda blinked at her a few times before answering, “I thought you were working together.”

“ _Form_ _er_ _ly_ ,” Cinder bit. “As of two minutes ago. You were there, if you recall.”

“I remember.” Glynda nodded and then paused to think, stuffing down the immediate urge to ask how this would affect their plans for getting to Atlas. Instead, she asked, “Is this about underworld politics?”

Cinder scoffed. “This is about their monopoly on anything with scales or feathers.”

Dropping her hand onto the arm of her chair, Cinder began to drum her fingers, agitated, gaze distant. Glynda waited, unsure of what to say.

Surprisingly, Cinder began to speak once more, “The White Fang has its claws in every business from Dust to human trafficking. They make it impossible to do business if not through one of their channels, and those who cross them see their connections abandon them and their influence dwindle.”

“Are you worried about that?”

Cinder let out a bitter laugh, looking her way. “I have more important things to worry about.”

Glynda felt another wave of heat, though this one seemed not to come from Cinder.

“Truthfully,” Cinder continued, her hand drifting up to her hair, fingers running across the top of her head as though feeling for something. “I’ll relish not having to play nice the next time I see those masks. If it weren’t for them, my life would have…”

She pursed her lips as if considering. “...Well, in any case, we still need a way to cross into Atlas.”

Her hand fell away, but something wistful remained in her expression, unusual enough for Glynda to catch herself staring. Jerking her head away, she touched the notch in her ear, the gears in her head turning as she considered the things she’d just seen. Slowly, her lips curved into the hint of a smile, and she lifted her head from her arms.

“I have an idea.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you didn’t think of this before,” Cinder said, speeding up to catch up with Glynda as she began down one of the long, steel docks extending from Corinth’s upper ring. “Seriously?”

The wind gusted harder up here, whipping at Glynda’s hair, but there was a decided eagerness in her step, each carrying her closer to her goal. Squinting against the gales but still trying for apologetic, Glynda smiled. “I didn’t really think about it until I heard what you said to the White Fang.”

“Is that meant to be humble?” Cinder clicked her tongue in mock disapproval, tugging at her hat. She was wearing a big coat over her usual dress, bland and brown but well-cut, and a hat that cast her face in shadow and kept trying to fly off her head. Not exactly a masterful disguise, but in the bustling crowds of Corinth, it was enough to keep stray glances from getting caught on her.

Glynda smothered a chuckle. “Surely not, Detective.”

“Do I _detect_ a hint of mockery, my dear Goodwitch?”

“Never.” Glynda inhaled deeply, stretching her arms above her head.

It had been a long night, but she had eventually gotten to sleep after some awkward back-and-forth with Cinder regarding the only bed in the house. Now, the Vacuo midday brought intense light, the sun shimmering high above them.

They were practically on the opposite end of the city from where they had stayed the night, and the air was salty, carrying the scent of the ocean from between the mountain peaks. The airship docks back at Beacon were carved out of the cliff, but here in Corinth, they had constructed a dozen hovering scaffolds utilizing the same technology as the tournament stadium for the Vytal Festival. They fanned about the pinnacle of the city, airships hanging lazily in the air alongside each steel dock; this high up, even a glance over the safety fence to look down gave her vertigo.

Using her own reputation to their advantage truly had not occurred to her before. She was Glynda Goodwitch, world-famous for her skill alone and then some for her tenacity. After months of single-minded focus on this one target - Cinder Fall, of similar renown, albeit more negatively - she had all but forgotten her own prestige.

Unsurprisingly, the staff overseeing the routes and schedules of airships had folded like lawn chairs.

What else could they possibly do? Glynda had explained that she was on a mission ordered by Headmaster Ozpin himself (the name threatened to catch on her tongue, but it was also the only name with more power than her own so she forced it out) and that it was of utmost importance that she get an airship to Atlas. She barely remembered to include Cinder in the deal as her “assistant”.

The look Cinder had given her had been palpable, even if she was busy with the coordinator.

When asked exactly what time the ship needed to be ready by, she had requested time away from the office to discuss and plan confidentially. Of course, rather than discuss, Cinder had immediately turned to snide comments - the first and foremost regarding her designation as an assistant.

“This is better than my second plan,” Glynda said when she was done stretching. “There would be no other option but to pretend to be a distraught but good-hearted married couple.”

An incredulous stare from Cinder made her think that this was, in fact, _not_ how jokes work - but after a moment, Cinder started laughing and put on a fake whine. “We need to be in Atlas by tomorrow for my brother’s funeral, honey!”

It was Glynda’s turn to stare, and after a moment, she decided: “No. Don’t do that. Terrible.”

“Is this a divorce, on the day of my mother’s third wedding?”

“You have a ridiculous family life, by the sounds of it,” Glynda snorted. “This plan would never work. A funeral _and_ a wedding?”

“And a divorce,” Cinder reminded her, adjusting her hat as though it would conceal her amusement.

“And a divorce.”

Finally, Cinder sobered. “In any case, I’m glad this is getting sorted out. However, I need to make a stop in Vytal first, so it isn’t important that we get clearance into Atlas _right now_.”

“Would you say it isn’t _vital_?”

Cinder shot her a look that was somewhere between confusion and exasperation, then shook her head. “What is with you today? All these jokes and _emotions_.”

“Don’t be rude. What are you doing in Vytal?”

“Ah,” Cinder pursed her lips. “An associate of mine has something I need. It isn’t really any of your business.”

“Questions, and all that.” Glynda offered a smile and, much to her pleasure, got a hesitant one in return. “So I’ll tell them we need a ship, but if they need time to give it proper authority clearings, they can have it.”

“At least for a couple of days.” Cinder drew the words out. “But be intimidating when you talk to them.”

“You know me, Cinder, I’m --”

With a sound like the impact of heavy artillery, the world shuddered, Glynda’s remaining words stolen away as the steel dock beneath her feet quaked, the sky flaring hot and red. Cinder careened into her, and Glynda caught her by the shoulder, grabbing for the guard rail with her other hand as the dock trembled beneath them.

Cinder cursed, grasping at the front of Glynda’s shirt for purchase, and for one split second, the two of them tensed, almost waiting for the dock to give way beneath them. Then then tremor calmed, and the few airships that had been jolted by it settled in their positions.

One by one, the screens displaying routes and times around them changed to pale yellow. A droning sound started, slow and dark at first but picking up volume and urgency by the second. A siren, Glynda realized, and then recognized it. Her blood ran cold, and for a split second, she and Cinder locked eyes, a dreadful realization lurking in those gold eyes.

Cinder tore away from her, sprinting down the platform towards its anchor, hat ripped from her head by the wind. Another explosion from somewhere in the city below threatening to topple her altogether. The violent shaking beneath her feet was enough to convince Glynda to follow suit.

“Cinder!”

Turning over her shoulder just as she reached solid ground, Cinder shouted, “ _Grimm_ \- ”

A flash of movement at her periphery and the way Cinder’s expression contorted into terror were the only warnings before the dock under Glynda lifted, the metal screeching as it from torn from the city, sudden weightlessness making her stomach clench. Instinct made her kick, a blast of Aura from her feet propelling her forward, but something more innate bid her turn, twisting in mid-air to see what had just ripped the dock away from the city.

Her body stiffened, death glaring at her through eyes like bubbling magma.

The size of the creature was so enormous it was impossible to comprehend this close. Coal black and gilded with dizzying swirls of rust and vermeil, its form seemed endless, the claws punched straight through the end of the dock longer than Glynda’s arm, the ragged wings flaring to its sides longer across than even luxury sized airships.

As vast as it was, the being, ancient and spine-chilling, seemed acutely aware of her, its massive head turning to watch, acknowledging her, _seeing_ her.

Its lips curled back, revealing rows of jagged teeth, and Glynda found herself staring into the maw of something greater than herself, something her soul seemed to recognize, her chest brewing with an emotion she couldn’t name.

From the back of its throat, light collected like a second sun, and whatever Glynda felt died in lieu of fear’s cold grasp.

“Glynda!”

The explosion rang in Glynda’s ears, the heat of it threatening to scorch her clothes and flesh alike, but the dizzying moment of disorientation passed with a realization: the smoking heap that had been the center of the port and the highest point of the city was now above her, and now, thin arms wrapped about her waist - _Cinder._

Flames poured from her feet, propelling them down, but they tumbled as they went, Cinder’s flames driving them right into the sheer face of the rock on which Corinth had been built and then off again, their descent hopelessly graceless.

“Cinder!” Glynda grappled for her bearings, desperate to work out which way was down before they ended up as shattered remains against it.

As if understanding, Cinder cut the force of her flames, allowing their fall to stabilize, her eyes going wide as she realized at the same time as Glynda that the ground was coming up fast. Whatever she said never reached Glynda, though; above them, the monster screamed, ear-splitting and nauseating, and every cell within Glynda reacted at once.

Awkwardly aligned as they were, it was only sheer chance that Glynda was able to catch hold of the back of Cinder’s jacket, tugging her up until she was forced to release Glynda’s waist, digging her fingers into the fabric of her collar and cape instead. With an arm beneath her legs and another under her back, Glynda gathered her Aura just in time to send a blast of telekinetic force at the roof of the building coming up underfoot.

The tiles slanted down into the narrow streets below, and Glynda’s blow pushed them off the roof without even touching it, sending them tumbling down between clothes lines and strings of lights. Another blast kept them from crashing into the side of a building, but an overhang caught them as they fell, a final, desperate flare of her Semblance cushioning them as they finally hit the ground.

Cinder spilled from Glynda’s arms, thrown across the pavement as Glynda rolled, her Aura protecting her from the impact her telekinesis couldn’t absorb.

Her arm ended up twisted under her, her body stiff and trembling, bursting with adrenaline and fear, but after a shaky moment to catch her breath, she remembered Cinder and the creature from before.

Hauling herself to her knees, Glynda looked around, finally noticing the thinning crowds of people who ran for cover. The alarm continued to wail, but now a voice had joined the chorus of chaos, repeating: _Incoming Grimm attack. Please seek shelter in a calm and orderly manner._

Finally, Glynda spotted Cinder, some ways away, staggering to her feet, shock apparent on her face. “Cinder!”

She didn’t even acknowledge Glynda, her eyes turned toward the sky, and Glynda stopped at her shoulder, also turning her gaze skyward.  Above them, a black shadow circled, disappearing into the sun’s eclipse only to emerge again, its form more apparent now that Glynda had gained some distance.

Her heart lurched. _Dragon._


	10. Chapter 10

The alarms and automated warnings seemed loud enough to make Glynda’s vision quiver, but she strained her eyes to look to the sky. As though summoned by the ancient force above, Grimm raced above the city, all slick feathers and spikes to block out the blue sky. Their ragged shapes seemed like nothing next to the dragon, which circled higher above, each beat of its impressive wings loosing sweltering air currents upon the city and even the Grimm flying over it.

There was no doubt in Glynda’s heart, as she stared up at the creature, that it knew exactly where she was. It had seen her, and it was still looking at her. She watched it through the frenzy of swarming aerial Grimm, something akin to watching the sky through the eye of a cyclone, and instinctively she reached for Cinder’s arm.

Even when grabbed, Cinder said nothing, and it was impossible to truly decipher what was going through her head, especially when Glynda’s own thoughts seemed to slip through her fingers like water, every cell in her body trained into acute focus on the beast above. The screaming of the city’s alarms and the cacophony of howling men and beasts were but background noise, distant, barely important.

Glynda did not know how many Grimm there were, but she ascertained without a shadow of a doubt that this horde would easily take down the city’s first wall. Maybe even the second. Her free hand closed around the grip of her crop, white-knuckled and trembling as she stared. Even as the city fell into chaos around them, Glynda could not look away.

The gunfire of Corinth’s retaliation was drowned out as the dragon fired another concussive blast, the bright second sun hurtling down and striking like lightning, a deafening explosion that shattered great parts of the city’s upper levels.

Through the splintering sound of glass and stone breaking, the automated voice went on: _Barrier deploying. Please seek shelter in a calm and orderly manner._

“Glynda.” A hand grabbed her wrist, and Cinder’s arm pulled out of her grasp. Glynda finally looked down, meeting her wide eyes. The hand that gripped her was colder than she’d come to expect from Cinder. “Run,” Cinder breathed, and her voice was thinner than Glynda had ever heard, barely audible over the sound of the Grimm running rampant.

Above them, the air seemed to shimmer and quake. Piece by piece, a grid-like barrier came into existence. It was warm in color, and the entire sky was gilded; even the dragon beyond faded into a light brown blur. Corinth’s final line of defense: a powerful golden dome, surrounding the city.

Even in the warm hues of the shield, Cinder’s face was pale. It occurred to Glynda that she had never seen her wear an expression like this. She had never seen Cinder scared.

“Cinder,” she said, her throat surprisingly dry. Cinder pulled at her hand urgently, as if to remind her to go, but Glynda remained in place. She barely looked up when the dome gave an electronic, reverberating groan—the dragon had landed atop the barrier, the face of it bulging inwards dangerously—before the words were out of her mouth: “That dragon is a Grimm.”

To anyone else, the observation might have seemed stupid in how obvious it was, but Cinder seemed frozen, as if she knew what came next. Glynda still said it, even as Cinder’s nails dug into her skin. “You have to send it away,” she said. “They listen to you, Cinder—the barrier won’t hold—”

“ _I can’t!_ ”

Cinder pulled at her again, and this time Glynda obeyed, staring dumbly at the back of Cinder’s head as she drew her through the city at full sprint. Around them, the crowds of people seeking shelter were thinning, but Cinder made no indication of stopping for a hideaway.

“What do you mean, you _can’t_?” Glynda tried, but even in this situation, it seemed her questions were unwelcome. “Cinder, wait—”

Her senses, constantly searching for danger, were set alight like a struck match, and Glynda twisted her head just in time to see the Grimm. A pair of beowolves came barreling out of a side street, their mouths and fur stained red, and were met with gunfire from nearby hunters.

Cinder did not stop. As if Glynda were her only lifeline, Cinder gripped her to the point of pain and skidded around a corner, taking advantage of the narrow bypaths and alleyways in the city. The hair at the base of Glynda’s neck rose, the beowolves’ snarls promising pursuit, their spines screeching and sparking against the brick as they wedged into the tight space, jaws snapping.  

Above them, the dragon bashed against the barrier, its blows warping the gold light. Another explosion rang, but it was muffled slightly, and the dome quivered. Jets of white light rent the surface of it, but it remained intact, knitting back together before the dragon could take advantage  of the weakness. It screamed, an earsplitting warcry that came straight from the annals of history—more bestial and angry than any other Grimm Glynda had heard, yet familiar, mixing fear into her bloodstream.

Another group of beowolves, flanked by two ursi and a griffon, waited around the next corner. Cinder swore, then winced as the dragon pummeled the barrier again. Glynda dug her heels in, pulling Cinder to a halt, and she turned over her shoulder, breathing hard, the flint of jade strung around her neck swinging like a pendulum over her coat.

Before Glynda could speak, she flung her arm out, desperate, flames dancing at her fingertips, wreaths of them halting the beowolves behind them in their tracks. At their side, the griffon shrieked, lunging for them, but a blast of telekinetic force sent it reeling, Cinder and Glynda nearly on top of each other, condensed. Their defense pulled them nearly breast to breast, each covering the other’s back.

“There’s more just around the corner,” Glynda said without being asked, telltale tingles shooting up her neck while the ursi before them pawed at the ground, sizing her up like a choice morsel. “A nevermore and some others.”

Cinder cursed again, lashing out with flames to keep the ursi at bay, and her gold eyes darted around as though she were some small prey, helplessly cornered— _Cinder_ , who never ran from Grimm, who held their command like a queen.

They barely saw her now, though, their red eyes tracking Glynda’s every move with little care for all else. Without vanquishing them, they’d come with no end, but Glynda knew it without asking, could tell by the way Cinder hadn’t done more than singe fur when she was capable of so much more: she wouldn’t allow it, the Grimm somehow dear to her even as they closed in upon them, the beowolves finally breaking free of the narrow alley, the griffon righting itself and bounding back.

Above them, the dragon screamed, and is if on command, the Grimm sharpened, hackles raised, claws scoring lines in the pavement beneath their feet. Cinder’s head snapped up at the sound of the bellowing roar, and without preamble, she wrapped both arms around Glynda’s neck.

“The roof!”

Glynda’s brain spun, trying to keep up with her leaps of thought, but the sight of the Grimm around them preparing to pounce was encouragement enough not to ask questions, wrapping an arm around Cinder and pulling her as close as possible.

Though her aura was already taxed from their fall, Glynda jumped, propelling them up with the power of her semblance, and at the same time, plumes of flames shot from the the soles of Cinder’s feet. Together, they had just enough lift to make it to the third story rooftop, Cinder with her face tucked into Glynda’s shoulder.

Panting, Glynda glanced down at Cinder, saying, “We need to—”

“Griffon!”

The yell and a sensation like nails across her neck were the only warnings before Cinder pulled her down, collapsing atop the roof, the claws of the beast snagging on Glynda’s cloak, ripping a new jagged edge into the fabric. The Grimm gave a piercing call, but Glynda reacted, rolling halfway and slamming it with a wall of force. This time it was kicked from the air, spiraling back down into the street below.

Glynda trembled, righting her askew glasses and rolling completely onto her stomach as soon as Cinder released her. Stumbling to her feet, she stared up, blackened bodies swarming, military airships now joined in the fray, gunfire peppering the airspace.

And through the masses, the dragon still remained, the barrier reducing it to a blur and yet—Glynda felt as though it were seeing her even now, staring into the depths of her soul even through the chaos.

As though breathless, Glynda whispered, “That—that dragon…”

From the ground beside her, kneeling on the grainy cement of the roof, Cinder responded, “ _I know._ ”

“It’s only a matter of time before…” Before it broke through. Before all of Corinth burned.

Below, the pop of shell casings heralded a group of hunters, flanked by militia, by Atlas bots steeped in smouldering chrome. Glynda only recognized them distantly, but Cinder took great note of them, scrabbling to her feet and hurrying to the edge of the roof, her hair whipping around her face.

“Cinder, what is going on?” Glynda followed her, cape fluttering at her back.

“I—I’m not sure… This wasn’t…” Cinder’s gaze slanted to the side, and she bit her lower lip. A screech overhead brought them a step closer, Cinder’s hand finding Glynda’s wrist, both of them stiffening and looking up just in time to see a nevermore brought down by flashes of steel from below. “Glynda… I…”

Glynda squinted down at the humans below. “We should join them. I know you don’t want to kill—”

The grip on her wrist tightened, Cinder’s nails digging into her pulse point. “I can’t. I… I need to fix this. Glynda, go down there.”

Her voice trembled, but she released Glynda’s wrist, her stare harboring no answers, only a fierce determination.

“Wait.” Glynda snatched her hand before it could fall back to her side. “What are you going to do?”

Cinder glanced down at their hands, but her lips thinned, wordless.

Glynda pulled her closer, refusing to let her escape. “ _Don’t_. Where are you going?”

For a moment, it looked as though she might just respond, might just actually tell Glynda plainly, no riddles, no puzzles to be sorted out. Then she tore her gaze away, biting her lip.

Unwilling to relent, Glynda insisted, “If you’re going to fight that dragon, I’m coming with you.”

“I’m not.” She still wouldn’t meet Glynda’s eyes, but her cold fingers closed about Glynda’s hand with a squeeze that could have passed for comforting had it been anyone else. “I’m going to be fine, but I need you to stay here. You can’t go anywhere until I come back.”

“No.” The word was out of Glynda’s mouth before she even realized it. “Whatever you’re going to do— ”

A sudden turn brought them closer than before, Cinder taking a fistful of Glynda’s cloak. The heat of her breath was warm on Glynda’s lips.

“Everything. I’ll tell you everything. Just—” Desperate fingers tightened in Glynda’s cloak, caught between pulling her closer and pushing her away. “ _Wait for me_.”

Acutely aware of their proximity - of their hands, still clasped together - Glynda felt her heart skip a beat. The world around them spun wildly out of control, but they were anchors, fixed points, each held in place by the other. Glynda understood little of the situation, only that were they to part, they’d be caught in the malstrom, tossed like ships on an angry sea.

But Cinder’s eyes met hers, nearly begging.

Slowly, Glynda nodded, and Cinder exhaled her relief.

With a twinge of yearning, Glynda allowed her to retreat, hands slipping away. She didn’t say anything as Cinder pulled at the jacket, shrugging it off and dropping it. Her hand hesitated over the necklace fashioned from Glynda’s earring.

“We’ll meet in the house from before,” she said finally, tucking it into her dress.

Glynda clenched her fists at her side. Stiffly, she nodded. “Be careful.”

Cinder gave a half smile in response. “You too.”

Then they parted, Cinder leaping from the roof and disappearing into the mayhem below, and Glynda turning back to face to where they had come from. The group of hunters was moving quickly, leaving the disintegrating corpses of Grimm behind, and Glynda inhaled deeply. It would take nothing to catch up to them, but still -

A roar tore her eyes toward the sky. Above her, as if satisfied with its work, the dragon gave one final scream before eclipsing the sun and gliding languidly out of sight, its flight cloaked in the hurricane of airborne Grimm.

Glynda swallowed, clenching her fists at her side, forcing herself to look away. The hunters below were farther now, but not yet out of reach.

With a final glance at where Cinder had disappeared to, Glynda jumped.

*

As the evening encroached, Glynda took her leave of the hunters she’d joined up with, shoving her crop into the sheath at her thigh and ghosting through the silent streets until she arrived at the house she and Cinder had left just that morning.

The barrier held, casting warm golden hues over the city as the hunters and Atlas bots drove the remainder Grimm from their darkened hiding places, but more hovered just outside the dome, circling like ravenous vultures denied a great feast. If the barrier had fallen, if the dragon had stayed to see it ravaged, there was no doubt this day would have gone differently, the Grimm overtaking even Corinth’s considerable defenses.

This respite was a miracle, but Glynda could scarcely relax.

Cinder hung on the edges of her thoughts, never far, never quite forgotten. Though Glynda had done much to help protect the hunters, she’d stifled the instinct to bloody her hands with Grimm, Cinder’s strange attachment to them at the fore of her mind.

That was half the reason she’d retreated from the others so soon: the looks they began to give her as she made it apparent she wouldn’t kill.

Alone now in the old house on the edge of the city, Glynda found it almost uncomfortably quiet without Cinder’s quips. The floorboards under her feet creaked with every step she took—she was pacing around the small main room, glancing out the window every time she passed. There was no longer any alarm siren, no gunshots, no screaming—but she couldn’t relax.

She did not know where Cinder had gone, and while they were far past the point of Glynda questioning her abilities, the memory of the dragon burned hot in her mind. She hadn’t seen it again, didn’t know where it had gone, but fear kept her eyes darting around for it.

If Cinder ran into it, would there be a fight? Would she lose?

Glynda closed her eyes, stopping in the center of the room. Her hands closed at her sides as she tried to pull her thoughts together and focus. Slowly, her fear ran colder, fading to something akin to a subtle press on her lungs rather than a vice. Her senses reached out—the senses she now knew were inherited from centuries of people just like her, whom she had never known—and she felt a familiar prickle at her neck. It felt small. She was sensing Grimm, but far away. Too far to know without losing herself in the search.

It was odd, but for the first time, she felt consciously attached to her own emotions. It wasn’t something she had thought about before, but after becoming aware of her own inherent emptiness, feelings became almost precious. If she let the iron walls close around her heart again and allowed her soul to fill her to the core—would she be able to return?

It had never been a concern to her before. She had never been truly conscious of the difference. She hadn’t considered it important—perhaps, deep within, taking care to avoid putting value in thrills of dread and the fluttering of joy. Glynda pressed a hand to her chest as if her own heart beating under her palm would telegraph an explanation, some new perspective, but nothing came.

She trusted Cinder to make it out just fine, whatever she was doing out there.

Just as she had unexpectedly grown attached to her own humanity, Glynda had also become fond of Cinder. It felt dangerous, not to mention traitorous, but traveling alongside her had been such an enjoyable experience. Even before that, the rush of fighting her and finding her strength equal had been incredible, each clash feeding a growing fascination that pierced the shell of unfeeling.

Cinder was purposefully prickly and full of sharp spite at every angle, but she was the closest thing to a friend Glynda could imagine. Cinder was different from Ozpin, even barring the matter of allegiance. With his centuries of experience and perspective, he could never truly be an equal. Glynda’s best friend, yes—her _only_ friend, up until her journey—but never quite on the same plane.

She might be able to defeat him in a fight if she really wanted, unlike the endless stalemates with Cinder, but that made little difference. The superiority that made them unequal was not in his battle strength. It lay in his immortality and reputation.

It dwelled in the way he occasionally spoke to her and looked at her as if she was someone else.

It was different now. Cinder was an agonizing mystery, purposefully enigmatic, but she was on equal footing. Even when she was being difficult, she was fun to talk to. She had a knack for cruelty, but Glynda had come to understand that not all of her banter was mean-spirited.

Glynda might not have known what Cinder’s plans were, and maybe she would never truly come to understand. But she did know that she was in no hurry to part with her. It was a similar feeling to the pull she felt when the dragon was near, but fundamentally rooted elsewhere—a  fascination of the heart, rather than the soul.

The sun was slowly sinking into evening as Glynda watched. She had scooted one of the chairs over to the window and sat there, arms folded in the windowsill, feeling restlessness and tiredness struggle against one another. The sun bled out over the distant horizon, and just as she was beginning to consider giving up and getting some sleep, her Scroll buzzed.

She pulled it out, and remembrance dawned on her before she even unlocked it. The message that had just arrived was from Ozpin and she dismissed the alert without reading the text, quickly scrolling through to find Winter Schnee’s name. She opened it, expecting a short message but somehow still unprepared for the brevity Winter wielded.

_It's open._

Glynda’s heart pounded against her ribs. The files on Cinder from the previous hunter on her trail were just a call away. She could finally learn something. Finally understand.

She called Winter. The holographic screen that appeared remained blue and empty for many long seconds before the call was answered. Winter looked just as firm and composed as she had last time, but when she saw Glynda, her trained neutrality softened into a welcoming smile. “Good evening. I'm glad you got my message.”

“I'm sorry it took so long for me to get back to you,” Glynda said, finding the words surprisingly easy.

“Where are you now?” Winter asked. “Out of curiosity. You’re very...tan.”

“I suppose.” Glynda felt herself smiling without putting in the conscious effort. “The sun is unrelenting, to say the least. I'm in Corinth now. Last time we spoke I was in the desert itself. I’ve got more suntanning done than I ever have on vacations.”

That was also a joke. She had never traveled purely for leisure’s sake. Winter did not know her well enough to catch it.

“In any case, let's get to the heart of things,” Winter said.

“Please. Go ahead.”

There was a rustle of movement and Winter’s steel gaze dropped from Glynda’s face. The medals on her uniform jingled softly as she lifted a black device and presented it to the camera. It was a small, flat thing, no different in size from Glynda’s Scroll. It had no discernable features to its surface, but Winter seemed to know her way around it with an expert’s confidence. With a trained swipe of her finger, she unlocked the device.

“This is the troublemaker,” Winter said, as a small light ignited in the center of the device’s face. “The files on it were protected, but even before that, the level of security on this thing is ridiculous. It’s still passworded, but…”

She trailed off, and Glynda didn’t bother prompting her on. Winter had already commanded the thing to call up a screen like the one Glynda was looking at. It began to fill with text, and Winter glanced back to the camera.

“I’ll make sure everything is securely transferred to your Scroll,” she said. “But if you have the time to indulge me, may I summarize the findings? I’m curious to hear your thoughts on some of the more...mysterious aspects. Additionally, I am interested to see if you’ll be able to corroborate at least parts of his story.”

Even through her on-duty professionalism, Winter looked eager. Glynda glanced out, finding the sunset as she had left it, and no trace of Cinder anywhere. “I have plenty of time,” she said. “It will be faster for me to hear it this way, regardless.”

The special operative seemed genuinely pleased. Her slender fingers quickly flicked through the projected pages until she found the appropriate place to start.

“So. It seems our good hunter was tracking her every move, including her communications via Scroll and even interrogating people whom she did business with in person—he notes that most of these endeavors were in vain; she’s good at encryption and ensuring her partners’ loyalty, to say the least. Most would sooner die than cross Cinder Fall. He goes on about it for a bit here.”

“He doesn’t start striking information gold—” Winter looked up briefly and smiled, “—until a few pages in. But I thought the reports on his general methods were interesting. Very stealthy. I recommend giving it a thorough read later; maybe there’s some valuable tips in there for taking your own crack at her.”

Glynda scoffed, not without a bit of humor. “There’s no chance she didn’t know what he was doing from day one.”

“Intimidated, are we?” Winter didn’t lift her eyes from the page, though she quirked an eyebrow at Glynda’s odd defense. “Going back to the notes, eventually it turns out she’d been looking into the Hill of Roses massacre.”

So she had been researching that for a while, even before Glynda got on her trail. She nodded to herself, and Winter continued: “I’ll warn you, this is all… Highly classified. We haven’t had the opportunity to verify the information, if that would even be possible given the nature of it and the channels it would involve… But I feel confident trusting this, considering its source.”

Glynda nodded. “I understand.”

“That being said, the information here could change everything we know about the Hill of Roses case, not to mention what Cinder intends.” Winter didn’t even glance up from the display, but Glynda still raised a brow at the familiar address. “Admittedly, there is something about it I don’t quite understand, but I’m extrapolating rather diligently.

“The notes keep returning to the word ‘witch’.”

Glynda’s heart skipped a beat, her expression faltering. Winter did not pause or notice her concern.

“It seems even our good hunter had some confusion about what exactly it means, but he uses it _a lot_. Please humor these few leaps of assumption with me; trying to piece this together from context is fairly straightforward once we get going.

“It speaks of the ‘witch’ and a ‘witch soul’—not in detail, sadly, but… Let’s me put it this way, Glynda: if you come across a _‘witch’_ in your journey, keep them as far away from Cinder as possible.”

Swallowing, Glynda felt something cold settle in her chest.

“Ah, here we are. According to this, the Hill of Roses _was_ a man-made catastrophe, powered by a machine - and a ‘witch soul’, willingly offered by its host. When the machine was unleashed on the protesters of Hunter’s Knoll, it appears to have surged wildly out of control, flaying the auras of those gathered. Whether that was the intended effect seems to be a point of contention, but it hardly matters…

“The remainder of the story is well-known, but to think - that awful weapon was fueled directly by someone’s soul...It’s quite amazing, don’t you think? Horrible, but incredible.”

It was difficult to speak. Glynda managed a clipped “yes”, and Winter did not even bat an eyelid at her muted response. Cinder’s words echoing through Glynda’s mind drowned out the sound of Winter even as she continued to read.

_This Witch’s soul burnt so brightly it blinded her. People begged her to help them. She broke her soul for them, and they used her power against other humans._

“Is there more about her?” Glynda asked suddenly, interrupting whatever Winter had gone on to say. “About...that incident. About the Hill of Roses massacre.”

Winter’s eyes sharpened, but she did not comment on the correction. “Not much more than what I’ve already paraphrased,” she said. “There is another handful of grisly details, but it seems that event in itself is not actually very important to Cinder Fall.”

She flicked backwards a page, and her voice grew graver than ever. “The machine itself is capable of utilizing the incredible might of that soul - the witch soul - to create a weapon more powerful than any defense, than any human soul.”

She looked up, finally meeting Glynda’s eyes properly. “Hence,” she said, “I feel safe to assume the witch is a person—of extraordinary strength, of course—and these next bits lend themselves well to that assumption. Do you have any comments so far?”

Glynda cleared her throat—a futile effort—and tried to focus on speaking. “My findings, er, support it,” she said, sounding strangled even in her own ears. “That sounds—I mean, I didn’t know about it, but it sounds...Accurate, from what I know.”

“I expect you’ll run me through what you found about this witch phenomenon once this is done,” Winter said, steely gaze slipping off Glynda again and returning to the files, a slight smile on her thin lips. “Judging by your reaction alone, I believe it’s safe to assume you know far more than you’re letting on.”

That was putting it lightly. Glynda squeezed out a reluctant vague noise of agreement and prompted Winter to continue.

“The real meat of the story comes along here,” Winter said. “Now, don’t ask me how he discovered all of this, it’s mostly hurried notes from here on - disjointed, somewhat paranoid. I believe he knew Cinder Fall was aware of his moves.”

Winter trailed off for a moment, inhaling sharply and steeling herself to continue.“If we’re unlucky, it’s pure conjecture. Hopefully, it’s reliable. He says the Hill of Roses itself is not Cinder Fall’s objective, but it will serve as a template of sort. That she—or someone she works for—is building something else based on it.”

“She’s stolen things even Ozpin can’t access,” Glynda said, barely hitching on the name this time. Improvement. Good. “Maybe even...Let me put it this way; I don’t know if a blueprint exists, but if it does, she has it. She’s harvested everything she can from all sorts of protected databases.”

“Troubling,” Winter commented, and Glynda agreed. A sickening feeling was welling up inside her, but Special Operative Schnee had no way of knowing all that. Glynda had half a mind to tell her to stop, but she held her tongue, and Winter relentlessly read on.

“This part is frustratingly vague again. He never found out what exactly the end goal of all this is.” Winter clicked her tongue. “But the Hill of Roses weapon will be the basis of a different machine, for purposes unknown, though it operates much the same way—that is, it requires a witch, a powerful soul, as fuel. It seems heavily implied that this time, it will not be voluntary.”

Winter pursed her lips as if she had encountered a particularly ugly word in the text.

“It seems the original Hill of Roses was outfitted with parts to hold a person in place—now, I don’t know how reliable this information is, seeing as the machine hasn’t been _seen_ since its only use over three hundred years ago, but that is what it says—and the new device will put those restraints to use. The Hill of Roses weapon did not, it seems, since the witch gave fuel willingly.

“If this information is reliable, I assume Cinder Fall intends to imprison somebody—the witch, whoever that is—in the new machine and forcibly make use of their soul. Whether it’s a weapon or some other tool is unclear, but the notes are explicit about its...unsavory nature. I can’t imagine having your aura sapped by some—some _machine_ , against your will, potentially for weeks or even _years_ depending on its purpose...it must be something akin to torture. Don’t you agree?”

Winter looked up, and despite the gruesome subject matter, her eyes were aglow with eagerness, her interest and curiosity driving an open desire to discuss and trade ideas. Her expression shifted as soon as she made eye contact, falling to pure confusion before starting a slow transition to concern. Glynda registered all of that, with the ease and detachedness she was used to when it came to interpreting others, long before she registered her own expression.

She brought a hand to her face, fingers coming back wet upon touching her cheek, and it was only then she realized she was crying.

In that same moment of realization, the world came flooding back in, rousing her emotions like opening a window blind on a sunny day—she bit back a sob, and then another, fumbling with her Scroll for a moment before managing to end the call. The screen disappeared, taking Winter’s confused voice with it, and Glynda was graced with one precious second of blessed relief before a vice twisted around her heart.

It was red-hot, yet ice-cold; it was fear, it was grief, and on top of it all, like a final touch on her masterpiece of foolishness, it had the bitter tang of betrayal. It caught her lungs in its squeeze and she struggled to breathe, air wheezing through in short bursts, and her tears responded by falling even faster from her eyes.

_Of course_. Glynda tried to stifle another sob, covering her mouth with one hand as the other maintained a white-knuckled grip around her closed Scroll. When that failed to stem the tide, she found herself doubling over in her chair, as if nauseous, desperately yet uselessly struggling against the flood of emotions.

Of course. She had been the only one who had considered herself an equal to Cinder. She was the only one under the impression that they could get along, that they had a bond. Glynda took her glasses off, folding the arms together if only for something to do with her hand, and put them on the window sill.

Of course. She was a lamb walking willingly to slaughter. She was making it _easy_ for Cinder. She had stopped fighting, blinded by her own desperate need to understand herself and the Witches, and she had almost let Cinder lead her by the hand to the gallows.

Glynda cried, unable to stop the tears. Bursts of pain—real, physical, actual pain—shot through her lungs and throat at every choked-out sob, and she gave up trying to silence them. Each gasp and cry was unfamiliar, but felt like tattletales of her weakness, and somewhere deep in her, they only invoked her loathing.

Cinder was her judge and executioner, and Glynda had made it _easy_. For what? A handful of fairy tales and pretty words? In exchange for childish bedtime stories, she came along willingly, too dazzled to suspect a thing.

Her Scroll chimed and buzzed in her hand. It was probably Winter, trying to reconnect the call again. Glynda slowly brought her Scroll back into view, drying her face and eyes with the other hand, as if it would somehow help, as if more tears weren’t immediately spilling forth to replace those she had wiped.

She looked at the screen and the incoming call. It was not Winter. It was Ozpin.

Glynda glanced out the window, and even with her glasses off, even with her vision blurred further still by tears, she saw the fading sunset. The sky had gone from orange to deep red, the dark yellow sun only half visible over the horizon, pitch black night sky creeping in fast.

She looked back at her Scroll. It was still buzzing in her hands, insistently pleading with her to answer. It was a regular call, no video.

Glynda made one final attempt at calming herself. It had little to no effect. She answered the call regardless, lifting her Scroll halfheartedly to her ear.

“Hello?”

She hadn’t trusted her voice to give the first greeting. Ozpin sounded almost surprised that she had picked up at all. The sound of him brought a second wave of pain, but it was mixed in with familiar comfort. “Hi,” she said, and cursed the quiver in her voice.

He was quiet for a few long seconds. “Winter told me everything,” he finally said. “I think you gave her a bit of a startle. She told me to call you.”

“Hell, I gave myself a startle,” Glynda said.

She heard a soft breath of polite laughter—Ozpin knew just as well as her that she wasn’t the type to laugh things off, and she supposed he took the attempt as confirmation of how distraught she was.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No,” Glynda sniffled. “Yes. I don’t know.”

She heard the creaking of metal as he shifted in his seat, and even that familiar sound was soothing. “What are you feeling right now?” he asked, carefully, quietly.

Unexpectedly, she bristled. “Are we doing this routine now?” Glynda snapped. “I’m not a child anymore.”

“Breathe, Glynda.” Ozpin’s tone was patient. She wanted to retort with something stubborn and indignant, but nothing came to mind.

“I feel so fucking stupid,” she spat, and her unprocessed resentment against Ozpin was devouring her grief in every syllable, even as she admitted to her feelings. Continuing in the same aggressive tone, she said: “I got so caught up in my dreams of knowing anything about myself that I walked right into her plans. I’m an idiot.”

“You’re angry,” Ozpin said.

“I am! I’m angry at myself, for buying into this shit.”

“Is that all?”

Glynda blinked, then frowned. “...No. That’s not all. I’m angry at Cinder Fall for lulling me into this in the first place. Can you believe I trusted her? That I liked being with her?”

If he found the admission strange, he correctly deduced that this was not the time to question her on that particular point. “Is that all?”

“No,” she said. “Most of all, I’m angry at you!”

She could practically picture his expression. He would close his eyes and smile in a rueful way that always made her feel bad for whatever she had said to cause it.

“I know,” he said. He sounded calm. Nothing like how she felt.

“And?”

“I was wrong to keep quiet about your heritage. I made a mistake, and jumped to too many conclusions. I thought you would be more like... ...That it would be different. I’m sorry.”

Glynda let out a long, shaky breath. A cold claw curled around her cuts, replacing the scalding vice of pain. She was not done. The apology was something, or at the very least, the start of something, but it was incomplete. “Who did you think I would be like?”

He was quiet for a long, long time. Glynda wiped her tears angrily, and they remained in her eyes now, pressing on her eyelids but no further. She put her glasses back on and sniffled.

“Oz. You can’t keep doing this to me. For—for _decades_ , you kept silent.”

“It’s true,” Ozpin said. “I’m sorry.”

The tears threatened to start again, and Glynda blinked them away. “Ozpin.”

It was his turn to draw a long breath. “I knew a Witch once,” he said quietly. “The one who came before you. That’s...really all there is to it. She was my dearest friend, and I was hers. There isn’t much else to it.”

“A name,” Glynda said. “Give me a name.”

“Vivienne. Vi for short. She—” he paused, uncharacteristically. Glynda almost felt bad for pushing this. It was the first she had ever heard of it, and it was clearly something he had intended to keep silent about forever.

“She was nothing like you, and it was wrong of me to assume all Witches were the same.”

“What does that _mean_ , Oz?” she was pleading now.

He was silent. Eventually, he sighed. “She was never troubled much by the uncanny void that haunts your shadow everywhere, Glyn—I never saw it, never learned how to handle and support that kind of Witch. Everywhere she turned she exuded love—for people, for things, for the world itself. If anything, _she_ was an outlier among Witches. I realize that now.”

“And I assume she had a hand in your immortality,” Glynda said.

Surprisingly, he laughed—a small laugh, but still. “Always cutting straight to the heart of things,” he said. “That’s my Glynda.”

His voice was overflowing with fondness, and as much as she wanted to have someone to lash out at, Glynda felt forgiveness welling up instead. Ozpin was not her enemy—Cinder was. He had made a mistake—a big, incredibly shortsighted mistake, but a mistake nonetheless—whereas Cinder had purposefully misled her onto the path of destruction. Her hurt, her anger, and her regret were all concentrating on this one person, and the horrible searing betrayal was a darkening stain on her heart. Despite how glowing it had been just earlier the same day, the organ began to return to its former, hollow form, taking on rot like a sinking ship takes in water.

“You’re right,” Ozpin said, and his voice sounded more distant now, as if it too was losing nuances. “She had more than a hand in it—her entire life went into it. ...But I don’t have the heart to retell this story in pieces, Glynda. I’ll tell it all from the beginning the next time we meet. I promise.”

“Okay,” she said, and her own monotonous voice was tinny and distant.

The offal trapped in the cage of her bones beat only out of habit, and the emptiness was a dizzying freedom. Through the clarity of the Witches’ primary tool, hunting awareness cut like a blade. Her senses relentlessly reached out, and easily picked out the huge presence of the dragon. It was within hunting range. She could feel Cinder, too, right alongside the dragon. Convenient.

She rose from her chair in one fluid move. “I have something I need to do.”

He gave an exclamation, and she recognized it as her own name, registered his tone as alarmed, and filed the information away with neat precision.

Without another word, she closed her Scroll and turned off its sound notifications. She shook out her cape and slipped her Scroll into the bag strapped to her lower back, feeling around inside briefly. She still had her flint, poncho, canteen, and—her fingers closed securely around the wooden hilt, the grip assuring her—her knife. At her thigh, her crop was ready in easy reach.

The room seemed to darken around her faster than the sunset could ever manage. Her heart had returned to silence, letting her soul do its work at last. She looked down at her hands. To think they had ever touched Cinder without intent to harm. To think she had turned away from a dragon and played pacifist with the small fry Grimm just because Cinder told her to. To think she had remained passive for so long, as if her joints had rusted her into stasis, playing at partnership with a snake.

Glynda closed both hands into fists, still staring at them. She felt ready. She finally felt good again. In her element at last. It was time to hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fun music to get in the mood!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQhiV9_sWEU)


	11. Chapter 11

Beneath the bleeding sky, shades and spectres haunted the valley’s forest, black shapes lurking in every tangled grove and thicket from mountain to mountain, their unblinking eyes all turned towards the city. They were watchers, enraptured by the golden hue of the barrier, their prize waiting just beyond its protection. In numbers never seen, with focus undue to beasts, they had been called from across the country, ancient desert Grimm and massive nevermores from the highest peaks all come together by one decree, for one purpose.

When Cinder emerged from the labyrinth beneath Corinth, they met her with the stillness of statues, bodies contorted into deathly rigidity, every muscle bunched as though preparing to pounce, to leap. Spell-bound, they acknowledged her appearance with only the briefest of stares, turning their heads back to the city as soon as they recognized the sigils drawn in blood across her flesh.

Silent as the kin around her, Cinder turned her eyes on the barrier as well, thoughts drifting to Glynda, her hands clenching at her sides. Aside from the endlessly circling winged Grimm, the sky was empty, the sun sliding down towards the horizon.

Then, until the sun rose high into the sky once more, Corinth would stand.

Relief warmed her chest for half a second before a cold, useless anger numbed it away, her golden eyes flashing upon the immobile bodies between thick tree trunks. With quick strides, her heels crushed leaves underfoot until she stood before a beowolf, cutting its line of sight to Corinth and taking its face in her hand.

Even denied the sight of the dome, the Grimm seemed not to truly see her, it maw dripping with slather from a long denied feast. With a curse, Cinder muttered, “Stupid!”

Unblinking, the only indication it had heard her at all was a minute shift, its eyes meeting hers.

“You’ve ruined everything,” Cinder told it, stepping closer until its bony nose pressed against her sternum. Bowing her head so her forehead rested against the Grimm’s, she closed her eyes, digging her nails into the matted tufts of fur at the base of its skull. “I was coming! I was on my way, and now…”

Now a frozen urgency sunk into her every limb, twisting in her chest like barb wire every time she remembered the face Glynda had made when they’d last seen each other: acute concern, _trust_. If she couldn’t fix this, well—Cinder had no way of knowing the defensive capabilities of Corinth, couldn’t even fathom that the dome hadn’t fallen today, but sooner or later…

“Alright,” she said, breathing in and out. The beowolf only stared. “Alright. We’re going to fix this.”

Lifting her head from the Grimm’s, she dropped her hands to her sides and flexed her fingers, blinking hard. Slowly, she slipped out of her heels, picking them up and holding them close to her side as if trying to conceal them, and glanced at the beowolf.

“Come on.”

It hesitated, all its senses and sense demanding it remain on watch, never faltering in case the barrier fell, in case its path to the Witch cleared of all obstruction. Then it moved, lurching into motion and coming to stand at Cinder’s side, its red eyes fixed upon her—for now.

“Take me to her,” Cinder commanded, aura flooding into the markings.

Grimm spoke no language, at least none that Cinder could parse, but she thought perhaps it understood by her grave expression, the sweat collecting between her shoulder blades. It started through the trees, walking slowly, and heart hammering in her chest, Cinder followed, leaving the entrance to the tunnels behind.

They went in silence as the horizon swallowed the sun and the evening darkened the forest, Cinder forcing herself not to falter, to shun the childhood fear from her marrow. Farther from the city, more Grimm flocked, each burdened by that same statuesque stillness. In all Cinder’s years, she’d never seen a congregation like this, and it made her wonder: was it just Glynda they had come for?

Finally, just as the two of them stepped into a wide clearing formed by the cracked and burnt trunks of a sloppy landing, the Grimm stopped, its head raised, ears pricked.

Cinder drew a thin breath.

The shadows here were deeper, endless, like the vast blackness of a sea. Had there been less corruption in her blood, she might have known those within as she knew herself. Blind, she stood close to her escort, waiting.

She did not have to wait long.

“ **Cinder.** ”

Devoid of high notes which might mark it as a human voice, the rumbling call was barely a whisper, but it still carried through the trees. Cinder straightened, eyes honing onto the form emerging from the space between two old oaks, sloping horns and incredible size granting it the presence of a nightmare given shape.

A blackened hand tipped with claws was the only beckons given, but it brokered no arguments. Cinder dropped her heels. With soot between her toes, she crossed the scorched earth, weaving between the stump of trees and heavy fallen trunks until she stood before the figure, barely more than half its size.

A gaze like molten gold fell upon her, expectant, and Cinder touched the back of the offered hand, her fingers tracing the identical red markings carved into the flesh there. With a gentleness which could only lend to affection, those clawed fingers slid along her jaw and cradled her face, palm searing as though magma burned through veins in place of blood.

Cinder closed her eyes, her pulse in her ears, and leaned into the touch.

“Mother.”

Thankfully, routine marked their reunions, so much that even now, even with a million things racing through her head, Cinder made the exchange flawlessly. She touched her mother’s thick, muscled forearm, the flesh hardened in places so it resembled scales, and her mother made a sound like sudden discovery, her hand trailing up to the crown of Cinder’s head, gingerly holding a piece of hair between her finger and thumb.

“ **Your hair,** ” she said, and Cinder opened her eyes, glancing up from beneath her dark bangs. “ **It’s growing silver.** ”

Her mother’s hair was pitch from root to end, cascades of it flowing over her broad shoulders and down to her thighs. “I turned forty-six this year, Mother. This is normal…”

“ **For humans. Not for us.** ”

Age hadn’t touched her, time leaving no traces of its passing upon her body. There was a point when Cinder believed she’d one day watch the firm flesh grow wizened, watch the inferno in her mother’s gold eyes fade into ashes. Now she knew that her own bones would be dust before her mother showed even the slightest indication of her age.

But Cinder… Cinder was _too_ human, her blood tainted with it.

Swallowing thickly, Cinder said nothing in response, the distinction filling her with unease, an acute pain, like an old wound left to fester being rubbed raw.

Whether her mother recognized the source of her silence was a mystery. Her red lips pressed together in a tight line, eyes lingering on the spots Cinder’s horns should have grown: tall and formidable on top and curling on either side of her face, a perfect mirror of her mother’s.

Quietly, slowly, her mother’s touch trailed down to Cinder’s chin, tipping her head up so their eyes met.

“ **I have missed you, daughter.** ”

The shadows between them seemed to fade, her mother’s skin illuminating with the gentle glow of a lantern, her expression softening in increments until Cinder understood it to be loving, maternal. Truth was the only language her mother knew, and some of the tension bleed from between Cinder’s shoulder blades with a sigh of relief.

Cinder said, “I’ve… Been busy… It’s been difficult to find the time… ”

“ **Your hunt for the Witch has been successful.** ” Pride, the inflection slight but telling. Even now, something stirred in Cinder’s chest at the sound of it, the pain of that old wound soothed.

“ _Yes_ ,” Cinder began, clasping the black flesh of her mother’s hand and pulling it down away from her face. “I have her. She’s in the city now, but—”

“ **I’ve seen her, daughter. I have felt the resonance of her being and understood. There is no machinery or vile creature which could keep me from her.** ” Eyes ringed in the same red which laid upon Cinder’s skin turned towards the capital, the bright luminance of the dome like a second moon over the treetops. The glow upon her mother’s skin faded, exhausted like the final gasp of a candle, and slowly, those eyes came to rest upon Cinder instead. “ **I would have burnt the flesh from her bones, had you not intervened.** ”

Tongue pinned to the roof of her mouth, ice flashed through Cinder’s veins like a treachery exposed, like the truth might escape her all at once, an admission born of juvenile terror, the belief that every sin would find absolution in her mother, no matter the severity.

Mother only closed her fingers around Cinder’s smaller hand. “ **Thank you, daughter. I will tame myself.** ”

Cinder’s lips trembled, and she lowered her eyes. “Yes.”

“ **Capricious spirit cannot steal our work from us.** ” Mother’s voice grew by a fraction, deep bass lending her grave intent. “ **You will be the harbinger of our revolution, daughter. Yours is the hand which will bring salvation to all.** ”

Her legacy. Her destiny.

Glynda was the key to all of it, success contingent on her soul, on the boundless power held within. Cinder knew, had always known, and yet…

Mother stepped around her, clawed feet leaving wide footprints in the ash, and moved away from the treeline, the moonlight washing her copper skin in pale hues. A jagged white scar cut across the back of her neck, bared by the parting of her hair, and Cinder’s eyes dropped from the ancient mark to the notches in her mother’s spine, the whorls of red down her back, guilty.

“I was bringing her to you,” Cinder said, mustering some defense though there had been no attack. “You didn’t have to—”

“ **She has encumbered each step like an anchor.** ” With a glance over her shoulder, mother beckoned, allowing Cinder into the space at her side, palm splayed across her back. “ **I know you would not delay in bringing her to me. Your tortuous route is her doing.** ”

Cinder nodded mutely.

Carefully, she said, “I can still deliver her. Send these Grimm away, mother. I’ll find Hati, and I’ll—”

“ **They come for more than the Witch, daughter.** ” As if on cue, the howl of a Grimm tore through the silence of the night, and Cinder looked up. Her mother did not move, but her lips tightened into something pained. “ **Hati has been slain. We will have blood.** ”

Cinder felt herself gape. “Hati has… No, no, I saw him… Two, three months ago. He’s been—”

His absence… She bit her lower lip. He kept to the edges of civilization, stalking through the woods, his size making it impossible for him to approach cities without notice. For someone to be capable of killing a beowolf grown to the size of a behemoth, they must have been terribly strong or either…

Understanding clicked, Cinder’s gaze swinging out over the treetops to the barrier, the city within cloaked in gold light.

A city like Corinth… A city with enough hunters and technology to repel even an attack like the one her mother waged against it today… The warning the White Fang faunas had given her before she entered the wastes rang through her head: _Many Grimm tore at the walls of Corinth, and those who weren’t slain in the hunt returned to the wastes._

“There was an attack… Here. Hati… Mother, are you sure?”

Her mother’s bright gaze slanted down towards her, but she said nothing.

There was no need. The answer was spelled out in the deep frown etched upon her mother’s angular features, the way she pulled Cinder a little closer to her side.

Cinder turned her cheek into her mother’s jet black hair, waves of it falling down her front and flank, and her mother made a noise deep in her throat that might have been sympathy had it not sounded so bestial.

“ **A million deaths would not annul his,** ” her mother growled. “ **I will ensure these hunters bloody their hands no more. I will expunge the stain of humanity from our world. I will… Humans will...** ”

Her mother covered her eyes with her hand, staggering forward, her body and head bent. Shudders wracked her mother’s body for a moment, and Cinder moved to her side, touching her shoulder.

No matter how many times she’d seen it before, there was no stopping the way Cinder’s throat constricted as tears fell freely from her mother’s eyes, streaking down her face to drop to the ground. Falling to one knee with the beginnings of a cry, Mother bowed her head, great horns poised like blades toward the sky.

“ **There will be no respite for them,** ” her mother sobbed. “ **When all of them are dead we will be safe. They will never… If they hadn’t… Daughter, come… Please…** ”

Mother reached for her, her fingers still wet with tears, and Cinder came, Mother’s arms around her, face turned into Cinder’s shoulder, her body collapsed in on itself. The beowolf from before bounded across the ashen remains of the landing site, rubbing against the backs of Cinder’s legs as it slunk in among them, setting its head onto the bend of Mother’s knee.

“I’m here,” Cinder whispered, rubbing soothing circles into the notches of her mother’s spine, touch ghosting over the scar on her neck. Somewhere far off, Grimm cried out, and Cinder wondered whether they felt Mother’s pain. “We _are_ safe, Mother.”

“ **No, no… Hati would kill… You were spared the anguish of… Daughter, we must…”**

There was no understanding her, and all that was left to Cinder to do was tuck her chin into her mother’s black hair, waiting out the storm of emotions that had reduced her to this. When she’d been younger, it had seemed so much easier, straining her arms to reach all the way around her mother’s neck and simply being there.

Now Cinder could not even claim to truly be there.

For every promise to rain retribution down upon all of humanity, the rhythm of her heart increased, a traitor’s beat which she was sure her mother would hear. For every vow to exterminate every last one, Emerald and Mercury’s faces clouded her thoughts, strangling her.

The plan had always involved casualties, but now her mother promised no survivors, and not even hiding them away on an island as far from Atlas as possible would be able to stop her if she truly meant it.

Another Grimm howled, this time closer, and Cinder swallowed thickly. “It’s alright, Mother… I’ll… I’ll bring the Witch just…”

Glynda’s face joined Emerald’s and Mercury’s, the concern etched onto those stern features making her wince, her hands twitching as contention and roiled to life within her chest.

With time, her mother’s anger would cool just as every time before, more focused on the Grimm than humans… But whether it would take months or years or decades… Cinder thought of the weeks she’d spent leading Glynda through Vacuo already, dragging her heels with every step.

“Just… Just give me time… I just need more time…”  

For a moment, it was as if her mother hadn’t heard her, the sobs wracking her body continuing without pause. Then she froze, the cry halfway formed caught in her throat, massive body going completely taut. At her hip, the beowolf stiffened, the two of them raising their heads at the same time, Mother’s tear-streaked face contorted into something harsh, terrifying.

Like a flip had been switched, grief now fled from every part of her, filled instead with a nameless fury, something grown through centuries of hatred. Though Mother’s stare burned not through her, but across the clearing, Cinder still took a step back, slipping from her mother’s loose grip and drawing a sharp breath.

“ **There is no need,** ” her mother said, rising slowing to her feet and turning away. “ **I will take her now.** ”

Cinder’s stomach lurched, her hands clenching into fists. “Glynda isn’t going to—”

The name slipped from her lips thoughtlessly, Cinder clamping her mouth shut in a vain attempt to draw it back, but if her mother noticed, if her mother cared, it didn’t show. Like hunting dogs scenting blood, she and the beowolf didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. Cinder followed their gaze to the edge of the clearing where she and the Grimm had first come from, zeroing in on a figure among the shadows.

Her blood ran ice cold, a familiar echo of emptiness crawling across her skin.

Mother gave a snarl. “ ** _Witch_** **.** ”

From the darkness, Glynda took a single step into the clearing as if acknowledging the accusation, standing right next to Cinder’s abandoned heels. Crop in hand, she bore no resemblance to the person Cinder had left in Corinth. When their eyes met, Cinder’s heart skipped a beat, finding nothing in her, the life which had begun to flourish within her stomped out, scourged.

Every carefully constructed lie, every leading fabrication—it was torn to shreds. There were no excuses to hide behind, not when Glynda stood here, not when Mother stood here, not when they were here _together_.

 _Run,_ Cinder thought, clenching her fists so hard her arms trembled. She tasted blood, only realizing she’d bitten her lip after it split. _She’ll kill you._

Glynda did not.

*

Glynda did not need night vision to navigate even when the light of Corinth’s dome was completely concealed behind the foliage. In pitch darkness, when her eyes proved unusable, her other senses reached out. As thin and fine like spider’s web, like the long and spindly tentacles of jellyfish, like the branching nerves in her own body—hearing, smell, touch, taste, weaving between the trees ahead of her, spreading through the entire forest.

The forest was alive with noise, telltale shuffling and rustling all around her. Heavy, wet breathing. Bone plates grinding on bone plates, spikes scratching softly against tree trunks. It smelled of rot; of old, damp, forgotten death.

Even blinded by the darkness, Glynda’s senses painted a crystal clear picture of her surroundings. Flanked on both sides by Grimm, with only trees and bushes separating her from them, Glynda wondered if they would attack. Surely, their blood was stirred as much as hers.

When nothing came, it didn’t matter much to her. Every inch of flesh on her body was alive, shivers rippling through her, every hair on its end. The small fry were insignificant, and they must have known it, bowing to the presence of something greater. The dragon was near, and so was Cinder, and her blood was a torrent through her veins, screaming for a fight.

She felt the weight of the dragon’s attention on her long before she came to the clearing. The trees were splintered, burnt black, as if something huge had landed there—but when Glynda’s eyes adjusted to the faint moonlight that lit up the clearing, it took her a moment to understand what she was looking at.

The call in her soul did not lie, however. Her body ran cold, filling her to the fingertips with a deadly calm, and she took her time to observe the situation. Each detail was instantly noted and filed away.

It was unusual to see Cinder shrinking into someone else’s shadow. Glynda supposed she didn’t have a choice, as the other was almost twice Cinder’s height, a menacing size to say the least. Noting the bright red markings that swirled across the woman’s skin, Glynda let her eyes wander over to Cinder’s face for a moment.

A sudden unease disturbed Glynda’s cold professionalism, rippling through her layers of emptiness like a stone dropped into a placid pond. Cinder was pale and wide-eyed, lips slightly parted as if she could barely breathe. Her terror planted itself like lightning through Glynda before the sympathy suffocated in the ocean of vitriol that came immediately after.

The air seemed alive with tension. A single beowolf parted from the pair, gave a sharp yelp, and disappeared into the underbrush. Sent away. Convenient.

Glynda considered the unfamiliar face before her, and the now-familiar pull at her soul intensified. Even under heavy black bangs she could see the glint of gold, studying her just as intently through glassy, tearful eyes. The woman was all angles and muscle, with clawed hands and pointed ears. The crown on her inhumanity was the four horns on her head—two long and sloping backwards, and two like curled ram’s horns.

Seeing her next to her daughter was incredible—twice her size, but the exact same nose, the same eyes, the same familiar thinning of the lips. Though the mother’s jawline was harder, she still undeniably resembled her spawn, and Glynda felt an excited stir of understanding crawl up her spine as the pieces fell into place.

All the data gathering had only taken a few seconds, and Glynda lowered her eyes slowly, measuring the distance between herself and the dragons. Easy to clear. To her surprise, the mother didn’t instantly lash out and attack like she had at the airship docks. One big hand closed on the daughter’s shoulder, pushing the child away, gentle but firm. On unsteady feet, like a fawn, the daughter let herself be set aside, her face still a mask of pale terror.

Glynda heard a voice, and recognized it as the daughter’s, but she cared not to listen to the words. Her focus fell squarely on the mother, her soul roaring, ready to fight, to kill. Her hands trembled with it, shoulders tight, legs almost aching with how ready she was to strike. Even her blunt nails, she thought, gripping her crop tighter. Even her teeth. All ready to rip and tear, to shred the Grimm, as was her duty.

 _What do you see?_ Grimm. _Are you fit for combat?_ Yes, ma’am.

Glynda broke from shelter and charged in. Recklessness was second nature. Around her, ash and splintered wood rose in clouds, but before she could even consider where to fling it all, it was gone. No, not gone—evaporated, the air quivering violently with heat and smoke. The mother dragon, without more than a flick of the wrist, summoned wreaths of flame that dwarfed the ones Glynda had grown used to. As if the lashing flame was a solid force, Glynda was thrown back, tumbling across the forest floor for a heartbeat before catching herself.

The clearing was big, but the flames still reached for the treeline, threatening to ignite the dry wood before retreating. It had been a reactionary strike, defensive as much as it was cautious, and Glynda resented it just as much as she appreciated it.

If neither the dragon nor its spawn would go for the kill, that made her job much easier.

She registered no intent to move in the lesser one and zeroed in only on the mother, rushing in toward the jaws of the beast. Plumes of fire lit up the night, but Glynda knew this dance, and weaved between them on instinct alone, always drawing closer, dissecting its movements with lethal focus.

She didn’t know how she was going to kill it. She wondered if its body would disappear. Despite the horns and fangs, it looked too human for her to be certain what would happen. She didn’t have that kind of data. Not yet.

When there was scarcely a foot between them, snaps of white-hot fire roared into existence just inches from her face, Glynda’s recoil not saving her from a moment of blindness. The dragon came after her through the wisps of fire that remained, shockingly close, faster than she had expected. Blinking away stars, Glynda snatched a charred trunk from the soot and drove it between them, only to watch it shatter against the dragon’s heavy blow.

The analytical part of her noted a hit like that—not cushioned by aura—would have pulverised every bone in her arm, maybe even her collarbone.

The dragon’s teeth snapped together, expression enraged, but every sweep of its claws only struck dead air. Glynda made sure to stay out of reach, but she was making no progress, the destroyed trees and rocks in the environment easily deflected. Her crop whipped through the air like a conductor’s baton, exhausting her arsenal of long-range tricks, each with less effect than the last.

There was nothing nearby that could help her. She was alone with her wits.

The first hit she took sang in her aura like the strike of a bell, sending her tumbling across the clearing and gasping for breath. Even with her aura, she felt the reverberations of its strength in her marrow, her knees wobbling as she forced herself to rise.

Glynda did not have time to gather her thoughts, however. Broiling heat scorched her flesh, and Glynda turned away, shielding herself with her arms. When the flash-fire sizzled out and she oriented herself, the semi-human mother was gone, replaced by its true hide at last, the traces of flames flickering out on monstrous spines and massive wings.

There was no agonizing transformation, no convenient window for attack. Glynda looked up, and the fully-formed dragon stared back down, its maw opening slightly in a rumble of a snarl.

The eyes. If she took its eyes, this would be easier. Her knife was small compared to the dragon, but if she could just reach its face, doing irreparable damage would be easy, especially since she could sense no aura from the massive beast. Changing her strategy, Glynda leapt out of the way of an incredible clawed swipe and pushed down with her semblance.

Boosting her jumps was tiresome, but as she was now the gaps in her aura refilled near instantly, a goblet of power that never ran dry.

Above, the dragon’s red wings concealed the sky. Glynda kept out of its grasp, her free hand drawing the knife from her bag as she continued climbing. Every spine and broken scale was a foothold in between jumps, even as the dragon writhed and thrashed underfoot, screaming to get at her.

When the dragon whipped around, it happened so quickly that it took her a second to realize, truly weightless for a moment—held aloft by the dragon’s fangs. Her arm was caught between its teeth. Her aura shone bright, striking sparks against the fangs, preventing them from closing even as immeasurable force threatened t.

Her aura was an impenetrable shield, but as she bent her arm to grip the vicious teeth with her hand she realized she wasn’t holding her crop anymore. Night wind tore at her clothes and hair as she looked around, bewildered, but she couldn’t see it anywhere, and the dragon grew restless. It tossed its head from side to side like a dog with a bone, and Glynda feared her aura might snap and her arm be pulled right out of its socket. Her fingers gripped the backside of the nearest tooth and she pulled as hard as she could, but no amount of muscle or semblance would budge the fang from its roots.

Her stomach clenched, ice cold alarm cutting through her determination, as the ground pulled even farther away. The dragon threw its head into the air, releasing her arm at the high point of its arc and flinging her up. For a moment, she could see what felt like the entire world more clearly than ever, lazy observations lining up and filing themselves away—Corinth and its dome, the light-speckled ocean beyond, mountains on every horizon, the bright moon above, lights everywhere she looked.

Then, gravity returned, greedily pulling at her, and she remembered herself. Like boosting a jump, cushioning a fall was a chore, but it was doable, and she attempted to right herself for the best landing when she realized she had lost sight of the dragon. Logic told her that losing sight of something so massive was simply not feasible, so it must have returned to its humanoid shape.

Right below her, a wall of fire erupted into existence and blinded her, and she shielded herself with her aura on instinct. She fell through an inferno, feeling the heat vibrating against her shield, quickly losing track of up and down as she tumbled. Even her grand supply of aura was being sapped by the constant cyclone of fire, and it dawned on her that she was likely not the first of her kind to face the dragon. This was strategy.

Instead of trying to push against the fall with her Semblance, Glynda attempted to fall as quickly as possible, to escape—without anything around her to push away from, a mid-air battle was more foolish than anything, and she was hopelessly vulnerable. She could not see how far away the ground was, vision blurred and darkening at the edges from the brightness and the beginnings of exhaustion, but taking some damage in the fall would be better than expending all her aura trying to outlast a dragon’s fire.

As if on cue, the ground rose up to meet her. She tasted blood at the impact, but could not feel any extensive damage to her vitals, and rolled away from where she had landed in a panic. The column of fire dispersed immediately, but left behind massive plumes of black smoke, and when the light didn’t die down, Glynda realized that the forest was burning.

She looked around for her weapon, on the off chance that it had landed nearby, but the smoke made her eyes tear, and she coughed, sucking in more ash and smoke as she did. On her side in the dirt, all covered in soot and burns, she must have looked like the perfect kill. Her off hand still clutched the knife, however, and it seemed as if that would have to do.

Shockingly silent-footed, the dragon emerged from the smoke and leaned over her. Long black hair brushed against her face before a hand—so much larger up close—closed around her neck, lifting her from the soot.

Held at arm’s length, Glynda kicked out, but her boots didn’t seem to bother the dragon whatsoever. She had never felt so _small_ , able to be easily picked up and thrown about, but compared with the dragon’s size, she felt like a child.

The dragon brought her closer, watching her face with great interest as she struggled to free herself. Her soul was crying out, in recognition and dread, and she tightened her grip on the knife. The dragon barely had time to narrow its eyes before Glynda sheathed the blade between its ribs, the steel sinking in all the way to the hilt.

There was a sound of furious surprise, and Glynda fell to the ground, unharmed. The knife was still in her hand, slick with blood, and drops of ichor from the wound splattered on her face. Glynda rolled away, got to her feet, and pulled every piece of tattered debris from the ground, lunging forward to bury the dragon beneath it.

It moved to meet her with a clawed strike, one that was sure to debilitate if she couldn’t beat it, but a split second before their forces collided, the warm smell of a fireplace enveloped her to replace the stench of the wildfire.

Something in Glynda screeched to a halt right before the daughter flung herself between them, semblance recoiling, swirling tree trunks and chunks of rock redirecting straight into the air.

The mother did not stop.

Glynda watched with cold confusion, her eyes wide, joints locked, as the daughter took the brunt of her mother’s attack. Human bodies did not twist that way. Human bodies were not meant to survive that. Bare of aura, her body flew across the clearing, crumpling like a doll’s when she nearly felled a tree, the trunk splintering with a sickening crack.

A moment of stillness fell between them, the dragon going deathly still. Some small part of Glynda, drowning and muted, surfaced with blazing urgency, dropping the debris from her semblance and taking off.

Though the dragon might have seized her by the neck, it only let out a choked noise, filed away as irrelevant, and Glynda’s eyes remained stuck on the broken body on the ground.

The world slowed as Glynda came to an abrupt stop just over the daughter’s body, a gnawing sensation in her gut, placid water disturbed by the bloodied sight of her. Carefully, she knelt, unable to understand why the daughter had come between them but unable to dismiss it nonetheless.

Her hand dropped to the daughter’s neck, slick with blood, and she stilled, waiting.

Cinder’s heart beat, pulse stirring beneath Glynda’s touch.

Through her cold mind, the sign of life ricocheted like a gunshot, forcing Glynda’s own heart to beat with more purpose, some of the rot in her hollow chest retreating. Even without understanding the strange beginnings of life within her soul, Glynda knew what she needed to do, reaching down to gently lift Cinder from the ground, her body cradled against her front.

This close, she could feel Cinder’s aura, stuttering across her flesh as it fought to rise from a state of dormancy, grievous wounds summoning it even if Cinder’s eyes remained closed, her breaths ragged.

Broken ribs. Messy break along her arm. Four dragging punctures from the dragon’s claws. If they could escape, she could heal.

Turning around, Glynda looked out upon the dragon, its head in its hands, a rumbling noise building as it ground out words Glynda could not parse. Heat poured from it, body threatening grand immolation, and Glynda’s gaze slanted sideways, noticing Cinder’s heels, disturbed from the fight. She bent to pick them up, compelled by some strange automation, the many times she’d seen Cinder do so before, and when she looked back at the dragon, its golden eyes flickered up, beastly and murderous.

There was no more time. Glynda took off, fleet-footed through the trees, boots crushing roots and leaves underfoot. Even so, she felt the transformation behind her, heard the scream of rage that seemed to resemble a name -

“ ** _CINDER!_** ”

Its leap scorched the earth, red wings spread wide over them, and Glynda spotted it through the burning canopy, massive claws close enough to disturb the treetops.

All at once, the forest seemed to come alive, the sounds of Grimm rising to battle flooding Glynda’s senses, the pinprick awareness of them almost overwhelming in combination with the dragon.

Sweat slicked Glynda’s brow, the flames spreading as she raced with no destination in mind, the dragon letting out a great bellow above her. In her arms, Cinder twitched, and Glynda heard her gasp for air, her aura steadying for half a second. Sparing only a glance down at her, she saw wide eyes staring back up at her, at the shape blotting out the moonlight.

Weakly, she wheezed, “ _The mineshafts._ ”

A shred of hope flickered in Glynda, everything to do with the way Cinder—pale, broken body flinching with every stride—did not drift from consciousness again, the fingers on her unbroken arm digging into Glynda’s shirt. She steered them towards the entrance to Corinth’s underground passages, sprinting by Grimm as they emerged from between trees like vermin, pests, all beckoned from their dank, damp homes by their queen.

Glynda zipped past them, skirting the snapping jaws of an ursa as it lumbered into her path. Nevermores burst from flaming trees, their feathers singed as they tried to maneuver through the crowded space, reaching for Glynda with razor sharp beaks, with talons like curved swords.

Still, the dragon circling overhead was impossible to shake, a single beat of its wings carrying it farther than Glynda could ever hope to match, but ahead, the glow of the barrier promised sanctuary, safety.

“ _Glynda_ — _!_ ” Cinder lurched in her arms, so sudden Glynda almost lost hold on her as she stretched to reach over her shoulder, arm outstretched.

An inferno fell upon them, flames engulfing all that Glynda saw, yet streaming around the two of them as if split by a knife. Each step carried them over red hot ash, all else consumed by hellish fire which could leave no trace of life, the heat of it choking, blinding. But still Glynda drove on, Cinder’s aura warping as if it might buckle at any moment, each second they remained unburnt like it might be their last.

And then the flames broke, and nothing but charred ground extended before them, Cinder falling into Glynda’s arms with a pained moan, her face buried in her shoulder.

In the distance, Glynda spotted it—bared by the fire, the opening to the tunnels opened in refuge to them. Glynda tore through the entrance, collapsing the mouth of the cave behind them with her semblance, and sprinted down the pitch black shaft, guided by memory alone. A scream of rage was the only warning before the heavy impact of a landing shook more of the ceiling free, the whole system trembling, rocks coming down on her heels.  

“Light!” Glynda commanded, the sound of the dragon’s thrashing aboveground growing weaker.

Warm blood soaked the front of Glynda's shirt as Cinder shifted in her grasp and shot a wobbling fireball ahead to light the way. It fizzled out too quickly, but Glynda saw enough—the passage ahead looked solid, like the tremors wouldn’t bring it down upon them. She slowed to a halt, panting hard, her whole body surging with adrenaline.

She stood there, Cinder in her arms, and then dropped to her knees.

For a moment, there was no sounds but their breathing, Glynda listening for the signs of pursuit. She could feel the dragon still, but it was smaller now, like it had returned to its human form.

In her arms, Cinder trembled. The darkness blinded her now, but Glynda had seen her wounds beneath the light of the moon, and she knew the aches of broken ribs and shattered bones with a disturbing intimacy. It occurred to her that to anyone else, the pain would be excruciating, especially pressed against her chest like this.

That was why when Cinder jerked, Glynda didn’t try to keep her, letting her spill to the ground with a shout and the smack of knees against stone.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

It was half a breath, half a word, shallow and wanting of air, and distantly, Glynda noted the telltale rasp of someone with too many broken ribs, one of their lungs compressed. Simply inhaling would have been a struggle.

With a string of curses, Cinder scrabbled in the darkness and then went completely still. A spark gave the chamber edges, the world color and shapes. Glynda lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the brightness of habit, but the flame was dull, weak, sputtering in Cinder’s hand as she hunched over in the dirt, fresh scrapes on her legs staining the ground dark.

In the light of her own fire, held close to her chest, she seemed smaller, her broken arm twitching in her lap, the deep gouges from spine to side oozing blood, her dress ruined. Her eyes were pits, face a mask of terror, and hair askew, spilling down her back in gnarls.

As though transfixed by the flame, she didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge Glynda.

Glynda shifted and glanced down at the shoes she still held for Cinder, at once unsure of what to do. It had seemed so clear when Cinder had been lying on the ground, but now only the vestiges of those emotions which had compelled her with such clarity remained.

She tried: “Why did you do that?”

Cinder started, fingers almost closing on the flame nursed in her palm, and turned to Glynda as if she’d almost forgotten she was there. Weakly, softly, she managed, “I don’t know—I d-didn’t think she would…”

More threatened to send her into a fit of coughing, but Glynda had gleaned enough. Trusting to the point of forsaking aura.

A itch was growing in her gut, something which only grew when Glynda realized she’d expected the same from her—and that she’d been right. Gritting her teeth and rising to her feet, she watched as Cinder tried to focus her aura into healing. It reminded her of animals, the way they held themselves when they’d been hurt, not moving for fear of ripping open their wounds.

To see Cinder like that was unfathomable, but even now, the part of her which roused at the sight was strangled to silence by the overwhelming emptiness broiling in her chest.

“I sho-shouldn’t have—why did I?” The wounds across her back began to bleed less, aura staunching them, but Cinder’s voice grew no less feeble. Instead, the shock of pain seemed to give way to higher notes of panic. “She’s going to think… No, no, no—that was— _that—_ ”

This time she did lose herself to choked, heaving coughs, interspersed with short, shallow inhales.

Glynda watched her curl in on herself a little more, only to meet the protest of her ribs, eyes cool behind her spectacles. “It would have killed you.”

A simple fact, yet for a moment, it curtailed Cinder’s fit, her head snapping up, eyes flashing with sudden emotion. It was a wonder she managed to swing extremes so quickly, Glynda thought. In an instant, she was livid, struggling to try to rise.

“If you’d just _listened to me_ —” The flame in her palm shone brighter for just a moment before rippling and growing wane once more, sure symptoms of an overtaxed aura. “None of this—would have happened! I was going to fix—” She staggered to one knee, forcing herself up to her full height with a choked whimper. “ _Everything!_ What the fuck did you think—”

“I know what happened to Bacia.”

It stopped Cinder short. Cold and exact, Glynda hardly recognized her own voice. At her side, her hand closed into a fist.

Cinder’s expression wavered again, shifting wildly from fury to surprise to fear. Her final destination was an attempt at calm, but like she was—pallid, sweating, swaying on her feet—she managed only stark alarm.

There was no hiding anything now that Glynda had all the pieces. It was only a matter of damning confirmation, of the swell of anger in her own breast at the fact that she’d been _so stupid_.

Sharply, as if she were irritated with the interruption, she snapped “I told you—no one knows what happened to—”

Glynda closed out Cinder’s space, looming over her in a way that halted her midway through whatever lie she thought Glynda was dumb enough to swallow. The flame in Cinder’s hand shrunk as she did.

“They put her in a machine.”

Cinder’s eyes were wide and searching, and she retreated until her back touched the wall, Glynda stalking after her, the hand grasping her heels pinned close to her side. With nowhere left to run, she did what all animals did: she bared her teeth.

“Enough!”

Movement turned Glynda’s taut posture into a full bristle, catching the swing of Cinder’s arm before it could force her back, the flame in her hand gasping for air, dying until it was but an ember, the light just enough to make out Cinder’s expression.

Mocking smiles and casual disregard were her arsenal, meant to distract, to misdirect. Now she wore terror splendidly, muscles straining against Glynda’s superior strength. Though the strength of the mother might have outmatched her, Cinder had never measured up in physical power, and Glynda exploited that now, nearly crushing her smaller frame.

“They used her,” Glynda ground out, leaning closer, a fresh ring of bruises blooming around Cinder’s wrist. “Just like you were going to use me.”

What was left of the flame flickered out with a stifled cry, whether from from the rocks digging into Cinder’s open flesh or the accusation, there was no telling. Darkness enveloped them, but it lent Glynda no kindness for not being able to see her prey.

Beneath an iron grip, Cinder’s muscles bunched and flexed, but she said nothing, keeping to silence, the sinner’s last salve.

“I didn’t question a thing. I just followed you. Did that make it easy? Is that why you told me I was a Witch?”

Each question echoed a little louder, and before her, the glow of Cinder’s dress began to illuminate the tunnel. This wasn’t like the first time they’d walked this path together; instead of the warm luminesce of a candle beneath her skin, this time the dust-infused patterns along her dress brightened in warning, in defense.

Glynda disregarded it, her pulse pounding in her ears. Whatever attack Cinder might try, she could endure it, her aura swelling like an endless font.

“All along, you and that dragon, you and that _Grimm_ —” The memory of its gnashing teeth, the way her soul had quivered seared hot in her, feeding her ire. “And I didn’t even notice that _you_ —”

“ _Yes!_ ”

The word burst from her, frayed and desperate, the light flaring a little brighter between them.

For a moment, it cast Cinder in pitiable hues, her eyes pinched shut, brow furrowed in agony. Glynda mangled the sensation before it could truly take shape, steel-faced and waiting.

Cinder drew shuddering breaths, looking paler than ever, but she cracked open one eye, chancing a look at Glynda. “W-we needed a Witch soul, and when I found you— _Glynda_. Glynda, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way!”

Glynda’s response came immediately. “How was it supposed to happen?”

Squirming, Cinder turned her head away, and all at once, Glynda could see it: she was picking her words, twisting things to suit herself.

“Stop _lying_!”

The explosion was something she couldn’t trace, couldn’t process. It flared hot and left smouldering ash in her lungs, a bitter taste on her tongue. Cinder had done something, broken something within her, and now… Now Glynda felt the pieces of that pricking against her with every word.

Maybe she’d trusted Cinder once. Maybe she’d tried.

Now all Cinder possessed was her loathing, and from the look on her face, she finally knew it.

“The machine!” Glynda watched her with cold precision, weighing the benefits of pressing against her, her broken ribs, of squeezing until bone ground bone in her wrist. “After the machine—I sent blueprints—she was supposed to build it and then—”

“The one that broke Bacia’s soul.” Painfully, her chest constricted until it felt like her own soul threatened to fracture.

Cinder tipped her head back, neck bared. The edges of red markings—Grimm markings—peeked from the black choker around her throat. “ _Yes!_ A-after it was finished, I was supposed to bring you.”

Eyes travelling back up to Cinder’s face, Glynda pressed, “Is it finished? Has it been built?”

“I don’t know. If she’s here, then…” Cinder trailed off, her knees wobbling as she slid down an inch, but there was meaning enough to be gleaned from her silence.

It was safe to assume the dragon had completed it.

Glynda stared for a long moment, unable to seize a single thought, unable to separate one from the rest. White noise screamed in her mind, Cinder writhing before her as the seconds ticked by, Glynda waiting for something to connect.

When it did, she released Cinder’s wrist and stepped away, watching as she sunk to her knees with a thankful puff of air, her hair matted to her face with sweat.

“You were going to power it with my soul.”

Apprehension locked her joints. Glynda saw her tilt her head back to meet her gaze, saw the realization bloom in those golden eyes that this reprieve was not granted of mercy, but of disgust, the inability to touch her any longer.

Extending a hand as if to make her understand, Cinder choked out, “I told you, we needed a Witch soul, but—but I never took you there! I never tried! I could have—but I didn’t even keep the aura suppressants on me—”

Winter’s warning flashed through Glynda’s mind, a sneer pulling at her lips from the memory. “ _Suppressants?_ ”

“I didn’t need to—”

“Because you could trick me into following you all the way without them?” Glynda’s teeth snapped together, feeling stupid all over again, an idiot for ever believing any of Cinder’s honeyed words. “You wanted a challenge?”

“You’re not _listening_! If I’d wanted to hand you over, you’d already be in Atlas!”

Glynda felt her mouth twitch, her grip tightening on the heels she still clutched in one hand. Below her, Cinder was breathing hard, perhaps a product of her injuries or perhaps the fervor with which she argued against Glynda’s accusations.

Very slowly, Glynda asked, “Were you going to use me?”

Cinder gnawed at her lower lip, her good hand rising to grasp at the tatters of her dress over her swollen ribs. “I… There are very few people I care for…”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t know,” Cinder said, her gaze falling anywhere but Glynda, doggedly avoiding eye-contact. “I wanted it to last.”

Glynda felt something cold claw at her heart, squeezing. She blinked hard against the sudden moisture at her eyes, mouth contorting into something surprisingly pained. Even if Cinder could not say it plainly, Glynda heard the meaning behind it. “That’s a yes.”

Opening her mouth as if to correct her, Cinder stopped halfway, perhaps realizing the truth of Glynda’s words for herself. No matter her delays, she still intended, in the end, to offer Glynda up like a sacrificial lamb, exploiting her soul for the power within. There was no defense, no stories she could offer to change the facts.

Glynda dropped Cinder’s shoes in the dirt, golden eyes following them as they hit the ground. Pallid and sweating, Cinder looked half a ghoul in the shifting light, but Glynda knew she was more than that, corruption in her veins.  

Imbuing her words with a hard, unforgiving edge, she said, “You are _vile_.”

As if struck, Cinder flinched, but Glynda couldn’t stop, her words coming faster, emotion puncturing every syllable as her tone rose.

“I let you twist me up. I let you _toy with me_ , and the whole time, I thought you were helping! I played along with everything, danced to your tune, and even ignored the signs—” It made sense now, how she’d been been able to suss her out time and again, the rotten tinge in her blood calling out to Glynda’s vacuous soul. Even if everything about Cinder was a fabrication, the blame for being so blind rested solely on her own shoulders. “I should have sensed what you were the minute I saw you!

“And still I—I thought—” The memory of her tears was hot behind her eyes, threatening to give way to fresh ones, a pitiful display she’d _never_ allow in front of Cinder. “I thought you could be _something_ , but—but you are _nothing_.”

Against her assault, Cinder offered no resistance, but that only stoked Glynda’s fury, wishing for the life of her to speak with blows, in a language she knew by heart.

“And now, you pretend that you _wanted it to last_ , that you weren’t plotting every second of it! You don’t care about anything but yourself, and I should have _known_ —because I know your kind, and I know the rot inside you. You might have a human’s shape, but you have a Grimm’s heart!”

The echoes reverberated around them, Glynda unable to catch her breath, hurt and anger mingling into a poisonous, vitriolic concoction which she tasted with every swallow. It burned all the way down her throat, settled in her stomach like an ulcer, but no matter how Glynda shook and trembled, Cinder never moved, her head bowed, all Glynda’s ire useless.

That burned her too, and when speech returned to her, her voice came lower, but with no less venom: “Patch yourself up. You’re due at Beacon, and I’m not going to carry you anymore.”

Silence descended between them. Glynda expected maybe some retort, some attempt at misdirection—she was ready for something, _waiting_. Her teeth set on edge, poised to flay any attempt at rebuttal with ruthless efficiency, but Cinder remained quiet, struggling to her knees, bracing herself on the wall to get to her feet.

Yet as much as Glynda yearned for her to muster some defense, the only thing Cinder offered was: “You’ll never make it to Beacon.”

It was a whisper of a promise, but before Glynda could question it, Cinder slumped against rock. “My mother knew you from the moment you were born. She will hunt you across Remnant, and I can’t—I won’t be able—”

Cinder covered her face with her palm, biting out a vicious, “ _Fuck_ , what was I _thinking_?”

With a keen eye, Glynda watched, uncertain of the change overcoming Cinder, the way her shoulders went taut but for the occasional quake. “My mother is a Grimm. My mother hates with everything she has, and she’s—she’s never ever felt—except for other Grimm—” Her voice had grown stronger, yet no steadier, hitching with sharp breaths taken through her teeth. “But _I_ … I shouldn’t have—bringing you here— _protecting_ you—those are _human_ things to do, and I… I thought I could fix it, but—”

Prickling unease settled in Glynda as she tried to understand the broken thoughts, but Cinder only tucked her head into her shoulder, hand hiding her eyes.

“ _But I didn’t want to lose you!_ ”

The words left her as though each scorched her throat, blackening it.

“I thought I could hold on just a little longer, and maybe—maybe I wouldn’t have to! I could just keep—with _you_ —but now she’s, she’s seen us, and she’ll come—for both of us—because I—I tried to— _so stupid_!”

Like a great dam had broken, the flood came with the shine of moisture on Cinder’s cheek, her mouth twisting as she tried in vain to stifle hiccups before they could escape. Glynda didn’t move, every muscle going tense as though expecting a fight. She’d expected wrath, falsehoods, but never the telling waver which turned every word into a sinner’s confession.

“I can’t protect you now that she’s seen! She’ll know—she knows—even after Hati—I’m a traitor to both bloodlines and—and now _she knows_! If she finds you—I can’t—she’ll kill you before you ever reach Beacon!”

Tears fell freely, Cinder’s body growing smaller, trembling with the force of the sobs ripped from her throat. Coherent phrases fettered off, lost beneath stuttering gasps, her mouth clamping shut for half a second to stem the tide before it came again, twice as forceful. The tunnels rang with it, a clear declaration, more direct than any words she’d ever said.

 _Vulnerability._ Glynda hadn’t thought Cinder Fall had possessed it, were capable of such a human thing, but the proof wept before her, all that pride and poise shredded.

“There is— _nothing_ I can do to save you,” she wheezed, finally dropping her hand to clutch at her side.

It occurred to Glynda that something in her responded to the sight of Cinder, not with bitter resentment or righteous contempt. A spectator to her own emotions, Glynda touched her chest, the stirrings within unknown to her, only that it was Cinder who provoked them.

 _I didn’t want to lose you_ , she’d said. It rang in her ears with her pulse, her eyes falling upon the wounds Cinder had sustained, ones meant for Glynda.

Glynda didn’t register her teeth grinding together until the pressure on her jaw alerted her, a faithful but oft ignored signal of pain. She knew, even as she stared at Cinder, who switched between trying to wipe at her face and holding her side, that Cinder hadn’t expected to take damage. She’d said as much. It didn’t count. It didn’t mean _anything_.

But the idea tightened its grip on her, insisting that Cinder had still tried to stop the fight, had repeated it over and over: _she was going to fix this_. When she made Glynda promise to stay within Corinth’s protective barrier, it had served no purpose, had done nothing to further her plans.

Had Glynda not heard from Winter, she wouldn’t have faced the dragon at all.

Dizzy, Glynda stood stock still, only realizing that Cinder was speaking again when she pushed off the wall, her head bowed.

Quietly, her voice thin with sorrow only just held at bay by paper-thin restraint, she said, “I—I’m not going to jail. You can’t lock me away or—or whatever my punishment is to be. I know what my mother intends, and… And there are people…that I want to protect. Very few, but…”

She bit her lip, perhaps not trusting herself, and took a steadying breath, bending to collect her shoes from the ground. She had been right to be so cautious, because the moment she did, she visibly flinched. Her reaching hand shot back to her ribs and she bit back a cry of pain, leaning hard against the wall for a moment before slowly lowering to her knees and, keeping her torso as still as possible, collecting her shoes. Just as carefully, she rose again, and actually met Glynda’s stare, a spark of her usual pride returning to her watery eyes, gathered up from the tatters left in the wake of her display.

“If we have to part…” Cinder took careful steps, stopping by a deposit of rock which jutted from the wall and lowered herself onto it with a poorly concealed wince. “I… There’s a better chance if we don’t but…”

Again, those golden eyes rose to meet Glynda’s stare. “Either way, I can carry my own weight.”

A bold statement, considering the way she’d hobbled rather than walked, the way she now hesitated to actually put on her shoes. Bending was sure to cause severe pain, but she set her jaw and leaned forward, refusing eye contact as she struggled to slip the heel onto her foot, a groan bit back through stubbornness alone.  

It took longer than it should have, and while Cinder still didn’t look up, it was clear that she was having trouble. Every move and sob sent tremors through her body, poorly concealed bursts of pain that made her breath hitch in her throat. It was a challenge to even bend far enough to reach her feet, let alone to put on a shoe, and her fumbling grew nothing less than pathetic.

After a while, she straightened slightly, as if to give her broken ribs the illusion of rest, staring down at her shoe in silence. It was clear that she intended to try again, and Glynda closed her eyes briefly and exhaled. “Cinder.”

She glanced up, only for a moment, and then returned to her work, bending back down with a slight whimper.

Glynda kneeled before her, slow and controlled, and Cinder’s thighs pressed together as she turned slightly, angle skewing the direct line from Glynda’s eyes to her own. Apprehension and confusion bled from her, visible in the way her body went stiff, lips pursed in a guarded stare. As though their proximity itched, Cinder dropped the shoe she’d been trying to work onto her foot and pulled her hand into her lap, nails biting into the flesh of her thigh.

“What?” she asked, voice regaining some semblance of control.

“Do you care for me?”

Like the strike of a gavel on a death sentence, the question rippled through Cinder fast as wildfire, her lips pulling back in a grimace, terror and shame lancing through her.

A hand at the back of Glynda’s neck was the only warning before a puff of air against her lips gave Cinder’s answer: “ _Yes._ ”

Her lips were warm, soft against Glynda’s in a way she hadn’t thought Cinder could be. Nails pricked at the back of her neck, something desperate in the way Cinder pressed their lips together once, eyes closed tight, and then stilled. A tremble ran up her thighs, felt when Glynda laid one arm across them, knees parting for her to fit between them.

Her palm found the soft curve of Cinder’s cheek, the trace of her thumb across tear-stained skin making Cinder’s breath hitch, but it wasn’t until Glynda opened her mouth to her with a spark of aura shooting between them that relief seemed to replace dread in Cinder.

Glynda could feel Cinder’s aura accept the boost eagerly, kindling to a low flame, but even more so, she felt the eager lips upon her own, chaste but undoubtedly wanting, every measure of tenderness matched by the way Cinder pulled her closer, refused her retreat. Even as Glynda closed her eyes, the light from Cinder’s dress began to dull, replaced by a warmed glow which shone even behind her eyelids.

Glynda’s hand drifted higher, sliding into Cinder’s hairline and hesitating over two raised ridges above her ear, mind flashing back to the terrifying horns crowning the dragon. Against her, Cinder froze, but Glynda only ran her thumb over them, never pausing, and Cinder’s skin grew warmer, returning with renewed fervor.

Elation flowed in her veins in place of blood, head full of nothing but air, yet even so, Glynda’s soul tugged at her, a reminder, and she broke away from Cinder with a final brush of their lips.

When Glynda opened her eyes, Cinder bit her lower lip, golden light pouring from her flesh like the gentle luminescence of a lantern. She refused to follow Glynda’s lead, as if opening her eyes would reduce it all to a fantasy, yet Glynda found that somehow, like this, she looked younger, uncertainty shaving years of callous cruelty from her.

Dropping her hand from Cinder’s cheek, Glynda’s eyes fell upon the shoe by Cinder’s bare foot, feeling Cinder’s own hand slide from her neck to her shoulder. Picking up the heel with great care, Glynda touched Cinder’s calf, lifting it from the ground to the sound of Cinder’s surprised inhale.

“Oh, Cinder,” Glynda breathed, slipping the slipper onto her foot. “You aren’t heartless.”

Cinder’s eyes flew open, her lips parting. The look she gave Glynda was all searching, all disbelief, but Glynda had nothing more to give.

When she moved to rise, Cinder didn’t stop her, but her hand fell away with noticeable yearning, a question posed in the way she watched Glynda stand and turn. Even without looking at her, Glynda saw the walls grow dimmer as Cinder did.

Taking off her glasses, she wiped them on a relatively clean spot on her cape, but they still came back smudged. After setting them on the bridge of her nose, Glynda wiped her palms on her trousers and then cleared her throat, not looking back at Cinder as she asked, “Can you walk yet?”

With the strain of a tight throat, Cinder replied, “I can walk. The rest will heal on the way.”

Glynda nodded. “We should go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [:^)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9Y5z3jei_U)


	12. Chapter 12

Despite the surety with which she’d promised she could keep up, Cinder had barely been able to rise without struggling to hide a pained grimace. Glynda either didn’t notice or didn’t care, her back turned on Cinder. The tatters of Cinder’s pride breathed relief, the memory of her tears still burning at her eyes, but the rest of her wished Glynda would say something, the distance drawn between them so swiftly Cinder was left reeling.

When she heard Cinder make it to her feet, Glynda set off, wordless, and Cinder fell in behind her, biting her lip.

The traces of Glynda’s Aura fed her own, encouraging growth even faster than Cinder would have imagined, but even so, she’d been bluffing when she said she could walk. Within a dozen paces, she was out of breath, forcing herself to keep up through sheer willpower. By the time she’d realized Glynda wouldn’t look back, she felt like she might topple at any moment.

The breaks in her arm were the most severe by the feel of it, but the ones in her ribs affected her most. Every breath felt like someone was reaching into her chest and squeezing, and even with the application of Aura, the pain was enough to slow every step.

Even through the jolts that came with every inhale, the throbbing which travelled up her arm, Cinder couldn’t take her eyes off Glynda’s back.

Sweat dotted her brow as she followed Glynda, falling further and further behind as they went. Finally, she stopped, panting and reaching out for the wall. The echo of footsteps told her Glynda hadn’t stopped, but it still took a long moment for her to wrangle her pride, calling out, “ _Glynda_.”

Stillness was her answer, her own sharp exhales the only sound. Cinder found herself touching the jade pendant beneath her dress. Then, “Yes?”

“Stop.” Cinder leaned against the stone, forcing herself not to slide to the ground. Quietly, she bit out, “Please.”

Slowly, Glynda turned around, coming back to stand nearby, her hands open at her sides. She wasn’t looking at Cinder.

Eyes flickering down to her feet, Cinder tried to concentrate on her healing, but her thoughts kept drifting to Glynda. Wrath she’d expected, and some small part of her had even hoped for grace, but to receive nothing at all left her unsure of where they stood, if Glynda had meant it when she’d—

Cinder licked her lips, the memory burning hot through her only to be doused by the cold remembrance of her mother’s face right before Cinder’s world went black. Even if the moments after the impact had been blurred and empty, crystal clarity marked the memories right before, her mother’s face twisted into boundless fury.

Just the recollection turned her stomach, ice creeping into her chest and lacing her veins.

A thin gasp left her as she turned her head slightly, forehead resting on cool stone. She’d seen her mother lost in her own sea of emotions, tossed like a small boat in a storm, always prey to the towering waves and tumultuous winds. She’d seen her mother smite cities from the wastes, smelled the acrid smoke on her flesh when she’d returned, but against Cinder, she’d never raised a hand.

Cinder hadn’t thought her capable of it. Now she weighed her crimes against her mother’s vast hatred: protecting Glynda time and time again, _disappearing with her_.

What would Mother read into these things? That shaving down her horns had only been the beginning of a treachery, years in the making? That coming to her dressed in fine silk and crushing the grass beneath heels instead of bare feet meant Cinder was doing more than blending in?

Her mother’s silences then resembled Glynda’s now, and Cinder was left itching for something to fill the space between them.

“We should have until daybreak,” she said, her voice carrying through the passageways. “At night she can’t change for long.”

Glynda, who still stood idly by, seemed a little surprised Cinder had something at all. Slowly, she nodded, but didn’t say anything in response, and Cinder felt the knot of unease tighten in her stomach.

“It—it might even be better to stay below ground.” Talking hurt, but her Aura was beginning to numb the pain, making it bearable. “If the barrier falls, the tunnels could still—”

“I need to make a call.”

The words were offered without intonation, without looking Cinder’s way. It was a simple fact, and it meant they’d need to finish their climb up into the city.

It also meant that Glynda still intended to try to escape Corinth. Staying here was impossible, Cinder knew. Eventually, the barrier would fall, but trying to flee the city—even at night—would mean her mother would be hot on their heels, assuming they even got away at all.

And making it all the way to Beacon… Not even a full fleet of Atlas airships would be enough when the sun rose and granted Mother the strength to take flight.

Speed. They could only hope to make it if they could cross the vast distance into Vale in a single night, and Cinder knew of very few airships which could manage it. Besides, the issue wasn’t whether such a thing could be done; it was whether it would change their circumstances at all.

She winced upon turning, the slow-healing wounds on her back brushing against the stone wall she leaned against. Where before they’d burned, now they throbbed with tenderness, the open flesh knitting together in gradual measures, still raw. Taking a few deep breaths, Cinder asked, “What’s at Beacon? I told you, she’ll come.”

Glynda glanced at Cinder for a moment. “Someone I can trust.”

Like before, it was said with no hint of emotion. It didn’t even sound like a jab, yet Cinder looked away all the same.

“Ozpin,” she breathed.

Glynda confirmed it with a nod.

When Cinder was small, she’d heard stories about Ozpin, though there had been no name to accompany his existence. They had been like fairytales, snarled between grinding fangs, about how he and the previous Witch had danced between her mother’s claws time and again. If there was a chance of safety now, it might only be under Ozpin’s care.

But even so, Cinder had never seen anything withstand her mother’s anger, and she didn’t know what he would be capable of against her.

He… He wouldn’t be able to kill her. She’d survived Witches at the peak of their hunting instincts before, and Ozpin’s reputation existed more for his longevity and evenhandedness than his physical prowess.

“If we could hide you… Just long enough for her to give up the hunt…” The world would burn in the meantime, Mother making war against humanity in the absence of a Witch to pursue, but perhaps in time… “I could…”

The thought of seeing her mother again filled her with dread.

When she was younger, her mother had strictly forbidden her from approaching human settlements. Once, despite warnings, she had crawled through the underbrush for just a glimpse of a city in the distance—entranced by its lights and noise, she watched at a distance, until a human spotted her and she fled. Knowing she had disobeyed her mother, she hid, curling in the hollow of a tree as if wood would spare her from consequence.

Hati had found her after it had grown dark, his nose pressed to the gap in the bark, the unmistakable gouges in the bone plate over his face visible in the light of the moon. She’d turned her face into the tree, but the connection between her mother and Hati was instantaneous, and soon she’d heard the crush of fallen leaves beneath nearly human feet.

As though she were a child again, she felt the same apprehension now. Even if logic told her time would do nothing to change the outcome, it seemed her only option was to steal away and avoid the punishment for her disobedience.

When she was younger, that punishment had only been the tightening of her mother’s jaw as she lifted her from the hollow, the silence which had swallowed the walk back to their entourage of Grimm. She wasn’t sure what her mother would do to her for protecting the enemy to their kind when their liberation was so close at hand.

“You said she would hunt me no matter what.” Glynda’s abrupt words pulled her from her own thoughts. “To power the machine and use it against humans.”

“No, she doesn’t want to—” Cinder paused, truth held hostage by her unwilling tongue.

Glynda sensed it immediately. A single look from her cut deeper than even her mother’s displeasure, and Cinder rushed to correct her mistake.

“It’s not a weapon against humans.” In her haste, the words nearly bled together. “It’s…”

Glynda didn’t say anything, but Cinder could feel that she was waiting for more. She took a couple of steadying breaths, but in the end she finally gave in to the weakness in her knees and allowed herself to carefully lower to the ground. Tipping her head back, she told herself to take her time, to work out the words slowly even if every part of her wanted to either bury them or reveal them all at once. She already felt frayed at the edges; showing hints of weakness now was better than losing her composure completely once more, everything coming out in a tangle of truth and tears.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you Grimm are tortured.” Their conversation on the way to the city seemed so long ago now. “I don’t expect you to understand—or… Perhaps you would know better than me…A Grimm’s existence is a miserable one, and like Witches, they owe that to humans.”

One pale brow arched in response, but Glynda didn’t interrupt.

“Aura lets humans change the world according to their whims, and Grimm are products of that. Feelings can give an Aura shape while a person is alive, but once they die, that power gets released. When Auras saturated with hate and sorrow are released, they birth Grimm.

“I never experienced it for myself, but my mother remembers… Vaguely. The emotions that created them are all Grimm feel. It’s unending, and they live in constant suffering, eking out an existence among one another, but inexorably drawn to their source: humans full of anger and fear and loss.”

Glynda took every word with a cool reserve which could only be due to her nature, yet even so, Cinder saw questions poised at her lips, her brow knitting in the way it did when she didn’t quite understand.

Pausing to give her the chance to ask and to allow herself to catch her breath, Cinder waited.

A moment later, Glynda finally asked, “What does that have to do with Witches?”

Cinder might have laughed had she not felt so rotten. How like Glynda to ignore everything else she said, focusing only on what pertained to herself. That tunnel-vision could have killed her.

“My mother—” Cinder paused, watching for some reaction from Glynda. When there was none, she swallowed, continuing, “—Often said Witches and Grimm were born of opposing forces. Grimm representing humanity’s capacity to destroy, but Witches were created of their potential to grow and expand.”

Glynda’s lips thinned. “Then why aren’t there…”

“I wasn’t raised by a Witch, but… If you look at the stories, Witches seem to decline as humanity flourishes. I’ve always thought that as humans climbed ever higher, the potential which birthed Witches was realized, and, unneeded, they began to die out.”

Again, Glynda seemed to contemplate this as she stared into the darkness just beyond the faint glow of Cinder’s dress, turning the words over in her head.

A sudden fear seized Cinder—that Glynda was trying to separate fact from fabrication, and quickly, she insisted: “I’m not lying.”

Behind her spectacles, something seemed to flicker in Glynda’s eyes. She turned her gaze down on Cinder, and at once, Cinder became so much more aware of how small she was, folded in on herself as she waited for her Aura to patch up her wounds enough for her to continue. It had been a long time since she’d been this weak, and immediately, the memories of hot tears upon her face flared to the fore of her mind.

She grit her teeth and turned away, feeling wretched.

Without commenting, Glynda said, “You never said what the machine was for.”

Cinder touched her ribs, taking a deep breath to test how much they’d healed. As her lungs expanded, her broken ribs protested, but the pain was duller now, and given a little more time, she ought to be able to rise once more.

In the meantime: “You saw my mother. She’s not Grimm, but she’s not human… She’s… Some middle-ground. It’s not perfect but…”

Understanding clicked in Glynda’s expression, her mouth falling open. “You were going to make more.”

Cinder nodded. “It’s an elevated state. Give them an identity… A consciousness. My mother knew the way. It was just a matter of powering it.”

“The world wouldn’t survive more of her.”

Casualties. It was something Cinder had long made peace with. She could count the people she cared for on her fingers: the group of Faunus she’d grown into her teenage years with in the desert, Emerald and Mercury, perhaps even one or two more. The rest could burn—at least, that had been the plan, until the crux upon which their plan hinged became more than a convenient energy source.

Still, Cinder felt Glynda’s judgement keenly, shifting beneath the weight of it. “Believe it or not, Grimm have shown me greater kindness than most humans.”

The years with her mother had been marked only by endless wanderings across Remnant, her skin sun-kissed, hair knotted, pairs of ursi or trios of fledgling nevermores always at her side. She owned every blade of grass and towering pine, her domain stretching from shoreline to shoreline, Mother allowing her to claim every wonder, her arms a bastion against the night.

It was only with humans that she learned she owned nothing that she could not fight to keep, in lessons of cruelty dealt generously to her.

“And you were going to use me to do it.”

“ _Yes_.” Cinder bit out the response, not raising her eyes.

For a moment, she feared they might spiral into the same conversation again, but Glynda seemed to consider the response, her stare palpable upon Cinder’s flesh. Then she turned, crossing her arms over her chest and saying, “We should keep going.”

“Glynda—”

“I can feel Grimm moving,” she said, cutting Cinder off. “It’s probably close to dawn.”

Cinder exhaled sharply, but she didn’t argue. With a heave that left her reeling from vertigo, she pushed herself to her feet, swaying only slightly before willing herself steady. If she’d had a bit more time…

Smothering the urge to sit back down and allow her Aura to do its job, she followed as Glynda led farther into the tunnels, Corinth still a lengthy ways above them.

* * *

When at last they reached the end of the tunnel system, Glynda pushed open the door and waited, listening for the sounds of an unending barrage. The house was still, though, and the city beyond it as well.

Every ounce of sense in her told her it shouldn’t be so, and when she glanced over her shoulder to study the expression Cinder was making, she found her looking the same.

“It’s morning?” Cinder asked as Glynda stepped into the hallway, making a beeline for the window.

Pulling back the curtain revealed rays of early morning light, bright enough to make Glynda squint. She put a hand to her brow and gazed outside, spotting figures darting in between buildings along the street, the shadows of wheeling Nevermores blurry through the golden glow of the dome.

Cinder moved to join her hesitantly, but even so, she was more spry now than she’d been in the tunnels. The tatters of her dress did little to conceal the bare flesh of her back and side; though the wounds had closed, some inflammation remained. Glynda catalogued this fact away without a second thought.

“I can’t believe she isn’t...” Cinder was just shy of pressing her face to the glass, trying to get a good look at the sky. Despite her pursed lips, Glynda recognized something like hope in her tone.

“She hasn’t left.” Bluntly. The dragon—Cinder’s _mother_ —was a constant itch crawling along her flesh, the awareness of her hot and near. “We need to leave before she comes back for seconds.”

Cinder frowned, backing away from the window and giving a huff, arms wrapping around herself. “Night would be the best chance we have. Trying to leave the city during the day would be suicide, even for you.”

Glynda let her turn away, looking back out the window. “Then tell me how to kill her.”

Resounding silence was the only response. When Glynda looked over her shoulder, she found that Cinder was staring at her, body suddenly tense, nails digging into her own biceps. Golden eyes flared, snapping hot disbelief her way, Cinder’s open mouth pulling back into a sneer which revealed sharp, white fangs.

Like a flame rekindled, life returned to Cinder—the meekness and uncertainty stripped from her bones, leaving only sharp angles and feral snarls.

_This_ was the creature Glynda had fought before, and her body moved, muscle memory refusing to show Cinder her back. Mechanically, she analyzed every inch of Cinder and the way the room grew hotter as her expression tightened. Glynda watched, weighing the likelihood of attack against—

“Are you going to cry?”

The words were out of her mouth as they occurred to her, and Cinder stiffened as though she’d been hit, a flash-fire surprise overtaking her expression only to change in an instant. Quick enough that Glynda couldn’t process the information in time to stop her, Cinder’s mouth clamped shut, her eyes widened, and she whipped around.

Storming across the room, Cinder disappeared into the hallway without a word. The bedroom door slammed shut, sending a tremor through the shack. Glynda found herself left alone, the room growing colder in Cinder’s absence, and pursed her lips.

It had been an observation—the furrow of Cinder’s brows had been so similar to before in the tunnels—but it seemed Glynda had been wrong. It occurred to her that perhaps she ought to follow after her—Cinder knew more about their adversary than Glynda, after all—but her feet were rooted, the thought of chasing Cinder anywhere spoiling in her stomach.

Without distraction or someone to discuss ideas with, however, Glynda was at quite at a loss. She turned back to the window, looking at the world outside and trying to make sense of the dragon’s absence and how she might use it.

Trying to focus on future plans of action proved nigh impossible, though. Glynda alternated between pacing circles around the room and staring out the window, each move of her body outlined by unresolved tension, conflict rippling in waves like the tide. When she moved to form a plan, it felt like reaching through slow tar only to meet slick oil, her thoughts sliding away ineffectively.

Instead, she was forced to think about the things she least wanted to, and no pacing or staring could drive them from her mind.

Cinder had planned to lead her straight to the slaughterhouse, bringing about what was undeniably the end of humanity and the world as she knew it. Did the fact that Cinder was doing it on someone else’s command mitigate that sin? _Should_ it?

It didn’t—not fully, in any case. Not yet. A lesser of two evils, maybe, but an evil all the same.

Glynda’s knuckles whitened around the windowsill and her jaw slowly went numb from clenching her teeth. Whether Cinder _could_ make it good to her was something completely different than if she _would_.

Still, a hint of compassion flitted through her, a subtle pinprick of sympathy. There were amiable feelings she had not quite managed to bury in time, sticking to the inside of her throat like thick air, a soft sensation across her lips which—

She had to focus. Glynda pulled her Scroll from her pocket and dialed one of the only two numbers. “Oz, it’s me.”

Ozpin didn’t greet her in response, something uncharacteristically impolite by his standards. The first words tumbled out of him before he could, a hurried blur of emotion that she parsed as “You’re back!”

She smiled, and repeated herself, more warmly this time: “It’s me.”

“Glynda, thank goodness. I heard about Corinth and the dragon.” He paused, drawing a shaky breath. “Are you safe?”

“Yes,” Glynda replied, staring out at the golden inside of the dome. “I’m coming back to Beacon.”

“Glynda, stay put. You’ll never make it out of Corinth, let alone Vacuo.”

“Funny. That’s what Cinder says, too.”

“Cinder Fall is with you? You have her in custody?”

Glynda’s gaze fell heavy on the bedroom door at the end of the hall, and the now-familiar mix of hurt and relief surged in her. “Sure.” Then, she narrowed her eyes. “You know about the dragon from before, don’t you?”

To her surprise, he laughed—softly, ruefully. “I am afraid I don’t know anything about its role in all this, but, yes. I have seen it before.”

“With Vivienne.”

If he was taken aback by her firm guess, he didn’t show it. “Yes. It haunted her life like a sentient eclipse. Glynda, please don’t try to leave Corinth. It’s power is—”

“Weak at night,” Glynda said, then corrected herself: “ _Weaker_. And the dragon needs me. She might give chase, but...” As if her own memory was striving to prove her wrong, she saw as if in slow motion the dragon aiming at her, its huge maw blotting out the sky, a second sun growing in its throat to instantly vaporize her. She saw Cinder again, taking a blow that was meant for her, put out of commission in an instant, _barely living_. “Well, never mind. She’s dangerous. But I’ll find a way.”

“Glynda, there’s a reason Corinth’s defenses are strictly emergencies only. You can’t get a ship through the dome,” Ozpin reminded her. “The entire city is locked down. And with that dragon about, you can’t make it here on foot, either. Please, until the danger subsides...just stay under the shield.”

Glynda stared out through the window. Even if she couldn’t see the dragon, she still sensed it lurking in the woods just beyond the city. “It won’t subside. She’ll get in eventually. It’s only a matter of time. I can’t just sit here and wait for that to happen.”

There was a pause, as if Oz were digesting everything she’d just said and trying to figure out how to respond. Glynda realized referring to the dragon by _she_ might have been confusing; proof Ozpin had never encountered her in her less monstrous form?

She assumed that would be a line of questioning which would take some time to properly explain.

But instead of asking about the dragon, he slowly said, “I imagine there’s a lot you’ll need to update me on when you get here. Is Cinder Fall involved in this reckless escape plan?”

Glynda blinked, somewhat taken aback. She often forgot that he had the capacity to be just as sharp and blunt as she did, and she gave a short, humorless laugh, more a courtesy than anything. His chair give a telltale creak when he leaned back, and she found herself not unwilling to speak.

“She’s more than involved,” Glynda said. “Cinder told me everything. I’ll fill you in later, but the quick of it is: the dragon is after the Witch soul. She needs it to power a machine. If she gets it, it’ll be a bit of an apocalypse.”

“ _A bit of an_ —Glynda, this is a poor time to learn how to joke.”

She ignored him, wandering toward the chair in the room and sinking into it, her muscles appreciative of the break at last. “I need to find a way to stop her. I’m coming back to Beacon. You have to help me.”

Ozpin was silent for a surprisingly long time. Eventually, his voice came soft, barely audible: “Me? What can _I_ do? Do you have a plan?”

“No,” She said, and could practically hear his disappointment. “But I know you will. I’ll share everything I know, and Cinder can fill in the rest, and you’re bound to think of something.”

Glynda tilted her head, pinning her Scroll against her shoulder and lifting both hands to her head. In Ozpin’s long silence, she undid hairpins, letting her hair out of its tight updo and running her fingers through it.

“Your faith in me is inspiring,” he finally said. He was resigning without wanting to say it outright, she knew him well enough to tell, but she still waited for him to continue. If he was to turn her away, he would have to say it in his own words. His silence lasted longer than she thought him capable of.

The last hairpin fell to the floor, her hair cascading over her shoulders in pale waves, and Ozpin sighed. “I’ll do all I can:”

“Thank you. We’ll make it back, I promise.”

Ozpin gave a long, vague hum. “I was reluctant to ask, but I can’t help but notice there’s a ‘we’ now. You’ve formed some kind of alliance?”

Glynda was thankful for Ozpin’s dislike of video calls. She touched one hand to her reddening cheek and cleared her throat. “Sure. Yes.” Then, after contemplating Cinder’s schemes for a moment: “No. A truce.” She paused again. “Well…”

“I’m sure you’ll fill me in,” he said, voice dry.

“It’s complicated.” She drew it out, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. “Very... _complicated_. But I’m still alive, at least. We both are.”

“Take care to keep it that way, Glynda.”

She smiled, leaning back in her seat. “You know I will, Oz. I’ve never let you down, remember?”

There was something surprised but wholly affectionate in the soft intake of breath on the other end of the line. Glynda waited, patient, and finally, Ozpin gave a quiet chuckle. “Of course I know. I’ll see you soon, Glynda.”

The call ended with a click, and Glynda realized she was still smiling, even after she had tucked her Scroll away.

There was still a plan to be made, she knew. Her eyes flickered to the closed door at the end of the hall, wondering what schemes Cinder was hatching—if any. Maybe she was having more luck than Glynda. She could only hope that was the case.

* * *

“I assure you, I will _find_ you—”

From the other end of the line, the man gave a snort. “You, or the White Fang. I think I’ll take my chances.”

Cinder snarled, letting all her frustration show in her tone: “Listen to me!”

The call ended with an abrupt click, and Cinder was left with nothing but the dialtone, her hand balling into a fist. Throwing down her Scroll onto the bed, she barely resisted the urge to light something on fire just to see it burn.

She was being _abandoned_.

Nearly twenty contacts had already told her they’d sooner face her wrath than that of the White Fang. Between the dragon, which had made headlines around the world, and the Fang, which had put a bounty on her head, no one believed she’d have the chance to enact any kind of bloody recompense for the betrayals.

She’d formed partnerships in every corner of Remnant, opened channels for trade in filthy, backwater towns that no one touched for all the Atlas security in them, and now, when all she needed was a damned _ship_ , she was being left out to dry.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hissed, pacing and running her fingers through her hair.

With a wheeze, she dropped onto the dirty mattress, her knees buckling beneath her. The springs in the mattress creaked as it dipped beneath her weight, but she was so _tired_.

Falling back onto the bed, she touched her forehead, a steady ache building behind her eyes as she stared up at the ceiling. A sour taste rose at the back of her throat, and a feeling that neared uncomfortably close to helplessness set her stomach to a roil. For the thousandth time in the last twenty-four hours, Cinder realized nothing was going to plan.

Her hand fell to the bed, twisting in the sheets at the memory of what her mother had said. Hati had been slain. It was hard not to let her throat tighten, remembering the feel of his pelt beneath her palms as a child, the way he would bend so her mother could lift her onto his neck. Hati had been her guardian, never far behind, and now, he…

The beginnings of a cry died in her throat, lips pressed together in stubborn defiance.

Had she not delayed, had she sought him out more urgently… But that would have only delivered Glynda right into Mother’s hands.

With a shaky exhale, Cinder rolled over and reached for her Scroll among the tangles of the duvet. She opened her contact list and began to scroll through it, searching. Even if she could convince no one with assets in Corinth to help them, she had other allies, and surely someone—

Her thumb hesitated over one name: _Roman Torchwick_.

Cinder considered for a moment, sitting up in bed. Vytal wasn’t the closest stop, but the ship she had there, waiting to be boarded… It was one of the fastest models on the market, illegal or otherwise. They probably wouldn’t be able to get picked up today, but if they were lucky, tomorrow night might be possible.

And Roman had a distaste for anything with fur, which meant…

She took a deep breath, collecting her. Then she hit the dial button.

It rang four times before there was finally a click, followed by a grinding of machinery loud enough to make Cinder instinctively pull the Scroll away from her ear.

Roman’s voice was softer among the discord, but there was still no mistaking the sing-song way he always opened a conversation: “Yello?”

She raised her voice, eyes flickering to the door. “Roman? Where are you?”

“Oh, Buttercup! Good to hear from you again. How’s that bounty treating you?”

So he’d heard. Cinder grit her teeth, drumming her nails across her thigh. “I’m more concerned about how you’re treating my goods. What is that sound?”

“Oh that?” Roman gave a laugh, and she could just see him swinging his cane out in some grandiose gesture. “That, darling, is the sound of all your _goods_ being carted off by the White Fang and co., and boy, they are making a _mess_.”

Cinder bristled, nails gouging red lines into her flesh. “They’re _what_?!”

“Oh yeah, that was a real bold move, pissing ‘em off when they knew where you had all this stowed. Did you think they weren’t going to come knocking?”

“I _thought_ I was paying you to oversee things,” she bit.

He gave a whistle, and there was a sound like the bending of metal from the other side of the line. “Oh, I am. I’ve overseen every bit, but you aren’t paying me nearly enough to do anything about it. Not that I could at this point. They’ve already gutted the warehouse. All that’s left is the hangar with that pretty little ship you’ve got in there.”

“Roman,” Cinder said quickly. “Listen to me very carefully. You owe me.”

The machinery quieted for a brief moment, and Cinder heard the smoulder at the tip of Roman’s cigar smoulder as he took a long drag. “Not enough, by my calculations.”

“I _need_ that ship. You have to—”

“ _Have to_ is not the way I live my life, sweetheart.”

Cinder took a breath, closing her eyes. “How much.”

He hummed. “What’s that?”

“How much do you want to keep the White Fang from taking my ship.”

“Well now,” he said, tapping his cane against the floor for good measure. “Now you’re talking my language. But I’m not sure you’ve got the means to meet my price.”

_Of course_ he would milk this. Grinding her teeth, she managed, “Double what I’ve already paid you.”

“Double? For sticking my neck out? I don’t think you know me very well—”

“ _Triple_.”

He gave a delighted little laugh at that. “You know, a while ago, I asked you for triple and you didn’t even consider it.”

Cinder pinched the bridge of her nose. If she were there, he wouldn’t think to gloat this way. If she were anywhere but here, she wouldn’t have to roll over for anyone.

“Triple, Roman. You _owe_ me.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then: “Deal. Your ship’s safe with me.”

Despite the way he’d led her around by the nose, she breathed a sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging. The sound of moving parts started up on the other side of the line, but it was getting fainter, as if Roman were moving farther away.

It would only be a matter of him piloting it here now, figuring out a way around the barrier, and Glynda…

She bit her lip, remembering her question from before.

“Now, I hope you don’t think I’m going to be bringing this to you.” His voice jolted her from her thoughts. “I heard about your little dragon ordeal.”

_Fucking hell._

Her voice rose higher, patience worn to nothing at all. “I am _paying you_ to—”

“To keep the White Fang from running off with it. I don’t recall ever mentioning a delivery.”

She would burn the flesh from his bones the next time she saw him.

“ _How much._ ”

“Not enough money in the world.” He was too far from the White Fang’s work for her to hear it, but there was a pause between his words, and Cinder heard what she hoped was the sound of a hangar’s doors being opened. “I’ve got a particular desire to keep on living, and flying anywhere near that dragon sounds a little bit like a death sentence to me. You’ll need to find someone else to come get you.”

“ _Fine_ ,” she ground out. “Just hold it until I can find someone.”

He gave a quip about wishing her luck and it being a pleasure doing business with her, but she ended the call before he could finish, giving a long, exasperated sigh.

_Now what_?

She couldn’t think of a single person she’d worked with over the last thirty years who would put their life on the line for her, especially with seeing how quickly her associates had fled at the first sign of danger. Piloting a ship into Corinth, with her mother all over the news… They’d have to be insane or—

Two faces swam before her eyes for half a second, and her breath caught.

“ _Absolutely not_ ,” she hissed to herself, angry it had even occurred to her.

As if to prove she wouldn’t even consider it, she tossed her Scroll farther back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling once more, her jaw set. There had to be someone else. There had to be some string she hadn’t pulled, a favor she hadn’t called in. Wracking her head for an alternative, she found herself fighting the urge to simply scream, feeling boxed in at every avenue.

If she couldn’t get out of the city, then… Her mother’s face, full of fury and loathing, flashed to the fore of her mind.

Pushing the heels of her palms into her eyes, she cursed quietly.

“Please,” she murmured, searching for her Scroll without opening her eyes.

Her fingers closed around it, and she held it over her face, trying to think of _anyone_ else to call. She came up short. There were no remaining paths. Her eyebrows pulled together, reluctance filling her from head to toe, but she cracked her eyes open and unlocked her Scroll. Cinder opened her contacts and scrolled quickly through it, but lingered over the name for a long moment, her finger shaking slightly. She closed her eyes, swallowed hard as if it would clear her emotions, and finally, pressed the call button.

It rung over and over, until Cinder was certain she wouldn’t get an answer.

Then it clicked, and she held her breath.

Emerald’s voice came through loud and clear. “Cinder?”


	13. Chapter 13

“I’m not doing it.”

Cinder bristled at that, but Glynda held firm, staring her down without balking. Behind those golden eyes, Glynda could see the calculations ticking away, the care that went into picking each word.

There was no mistaking the frustration mounting in her though, and Cinder ground out, “It’s our best bet. The barrier isn’t going to last another day.”

Though luck had spared them that first day, yesterday and all of today had been a constant siege. The city shook each time Cinder’s mother bombarded it with deadly force. That the dome hadn’t given today had been a blessing, but Glynda suspected it was their last. She’d spent the whole day on the rooftop, watching the dragon’s assault, white-knuckled and tense.

Each hit made her flinch, waiting to see the barrier collapse around them, but though cracks had appeared in the golden dome, it had held.

But even so, Cinder’s idea—

“How many people will die?”

Her lips pulled back in the beginnings of a snarl. “ _Now_ you’re growing a conscience? I didn’t think you cared about civilians.”

That’s right. She’d blown past people in need while tracking Cinder, too wrapped up in the hunt to stop, but this was an entire city, the capital of Vacuo. “The city hasn’t even finished recovering from the first attack. If Grimm get into the city now—”

Cinder gave a sound of disgust, throwing her hands into the air. Her heels snapped over the hard roof upon which they both stood, and she demanded, “Well, what would you have me do? Airships can’t get into the city while the barrier is still active! That means we can’t get out, Glynda.”

Glynda grit her teeth, thinking back to Oz. If he were here, he would have the words to explain why she couldn’t. Instead, it was just her and Cinder, so she let her unnatural calm fill her, and as steadily as she could, she said, “We can’t _turn off the shield_. The city isn’t going to withstand another full-scale invasion—”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Cinder said, motioning up toward the cracks in the golden light which couldn’t quite seal. “If we stay here, that’s exactly what will happen.”

Though she’d often complained of Glynda doing it, this time it was Cinder’s turn to pace. “The barrier wouldn’t even have to be down for very long. Just long enough for us to get away—a minute, maybe two. _That’s it_.”

Turning to Glynda, Cinder looked as though she expected her to now see the viability in her plan, but Glynda still hesitated. Her senses were filled with the sensation of so many Grimm so near. A lot could get into the city in a minute or two.

“Why can’t we escape through the tunnels?” Cinder’s lips twitched, her frown deepening, but Glynda didn’t stop. “You said there were a lot beneath the city. That one passage can’t be the only one.”

“My mother would feel you coming,” Cinder returned, her eyes flickering away. “We’re taking a huge risk with this to begin with. She’s not stupid. If she sees an airship coming down, she’s going to know what we’re trying to do.”

At that, Glynda couldn’t find a suitable argument. Her face was blank, but the gears of her mind turned and turned.

As if sensing her inability to offer a rebuttal, Cinder said, “Like this, we at least have a chance.”

Glynda hated to admit it, but Cinder was right about being picked up from the ground. If they were going to get by her mother, they would need the swiftest exit possible, especially since she’d already proved herself capable of short transformations even at night.

Remembering the fight in the woods, Glynda’s mouth dipped into a frown. Her Aura was nearly endless, but against the dragon’s full might, even she had tread close to true peril. An airship, even one with the most up-to-date defenses and capabilities, wouldn’t stand a chance against Cinder’s mother.

As the last light of the sun began to die on the horizon, Glynda looked up at the encroaching night. They wouldn’t have much time to decide.

Cinder knew it, even without Glynda voicing it. “The Grimm won’t be focused on the city anyway, and neither will my mother. She’s going to come after you.”

Glynda thought so too. That Cinder knew her mother so well was an advantage they’d need, but it also begged the question: “Why haven’t you tried to stop her? You could—”

The panic that flitted across Cinder’s expression as she glanced up told Glynda all she needed to know. Then she dropped her gaze again, lips pursing, and Glynda felt her brow knit together. The answer was simple: Cinder didn’t care about the lives endangered here. Cinder was a coward.

Like the thought was scrawled across her forehead, Cinder pulled herself up, never quite meeting Glynda’s eyes.

“Is it such a crime to hunt survival?” she asked.

Glynda didn’t react, her face blank. Even so, there was the unmistakable edge of distaste in her tone when she said, “You really are selfish.”

Even so, if Cinder was so sure her mother would pursue Glynda over all else, it would have been smarter to leave by herself, if she really feared her that much. She said so, and Cinder squirmed.

Inhaling sharply, Cinder seemed to steady herself, as if her tongue was going to stumble over the words that followed. Very slowly, her voice low, she said, “I already told you. I have very few people I truly care for.”

For a moment, Glynda didn’t respond. She’d gotten better at reading between the lines of Cinder’s words, but she still took a moment to consider.

In a measured tone, Glynda asked, “Are you trying to say you’re doing this for me?”

Cinder’s eyes darted up, trying decipher the meaning behind the question surely, but the emotion was still schooled from Glynda’s expression, and she looked away just as quickly, shifting uncomfortably. Dragging truth from her was still a struggle, but a moment later, Cinder confessed, “Yes.”

Glynda stood completely still. If the barrier were down, there might have been a whisper of wind to disturb the silence between them, but now there was nothing. A lightness in her stomach was stomped out the moment it appeared, Glynda forcing herself to remember that this was still an entire city that Cinder would be willing to sacrifice.

 _For her._ The feeling returned, and she breathed out slowly.

“Anyway,” Cinder said, clearly unsettled by the long pause. “We’re running out of time, Glynda.”

Darkness was closing fast, and by Cinder’s estimations, they’d need the whole night to travel. Squinting up at the dome above them, Glynda pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Okay.”

*

Corinth’s central stem was an imposing tower, the pinnacle on which everything hinged. The hovering docks that remained after the dragon’s assault were fanned about it with unnatural stillness which only served as a testament to the tower’s stability and energy output. No wind or creature could hope to pull the docks away from their stem. Even now, shattered pieces of steel hovered where the dragon had broken the docks, the technology that suspended them refusing to let go.

It was a marvel to behold, especially up close. Especially from within.

The first floors were in use: at the very bottom, airship tickets and luggage areas. Above those, command centres and central power supplies. Yet higher up, at the top of the public sections of the tower, airship waiting facilities and exits to the docks. Glynda and Cinder decided to avoid those oft-used floors entirely.

Wearing her best on-duty face, Glynda led them through the ground floor lobby and into an elevator. She never stopped to talk or even look at any of the guards or citizens seeking shelter, and even when the elevator filled with others, nobody spoke to her or Cinder. As the elevator climbed, the amount of people decreased sharply with each floor, until they were alone.

“It’s probably guarded,” Cinder hissed.

Glynda didn’t respond, watching the floor counter above the door climb. She suspected their forces would be stretched too thin for a proper watch, especially considering turning off the barrier was the last thing on anyone’s mind.

The elevator stopped in a dark, dusty place, above the occupied halls. These were hollow maintenance areas, more support structure than anything. Glynda looked up, and she could see through what would have been several floors’ worth of space, had it been utilized. The space above was criss-crossed every few meters by support beams and rebar, ensuring the tower would never crumble.

It was quiet.

“It should be above us,” Glynda said, her voice barely a murmur. “There must be stairs going up.”

Cinder looked around, a flame flickering to life in her open hand. The light it brought illuminated never-cleaned floors and walls, shining off the dust particles in the air. She looked like a cat on the prowl, eyes sharp and seeking, not a shred of fear in her expression or body.

A good sign, Glynda reckoned, recalling how pathetic she had been just two days before.

Untouched by Glynda’s thoughts, Cinder pointed to the floor, where obvious tracks in the dust marked the way. The huntress raised her eyebrows briefly and was met with a half-smirk. So it was to be that easy.

Neither of them said anything, but they moved in perfect unison to follow the tracks. Glynda was pleased, though not surprised, to find that even in heels, Cinder was quieter than her.

“I would like to avoid slaughtering everyone here,” Glynda said, moving in until they were closely side by side.

Cinder gave her a look that was somewhere between exasperation and annoyance. “So I’ve heard.”

“ _So_ , even if we run into guards, do try to control yourself.”

Cinder didn’t reply, but as they rounded the corner around a supporting wall, she sharpened, drawing closer to the ground. “Have at it, then.”

The hallway was short, with a single bulb at the end illuminating a steel gray door. In front of it were two guards, all cramped into the narrow passage, each with a firearm in hand. Immediately, both guards raised their weapons, but Glynda noticed that they were lagging several seconds behind Cinder’s reaction.

If she was being honest, after months of clashing with Cinder exclusively, regular guards seemed as if they were paper cutouts moving through syrup. And after fighting a dragon one-on-one, their standard issue automatic weapons were not particularly impressive, either.

Raising their guns was all they had time to do before a burst of fire blinded them, the hallway lit up brightly by Cinder’s attack. Glynda took the cue without needing instruction, Aura flaring up to shield her from the fire as she sprinted down the corridor after it.

The guards had no way to see it coming when a fully trained huntress of Vale burst from the flames. The guard on the right took a solid blow to the head that bruised her knuckles, his helmet bashing the wall behind him. Before the left guard could respond, her elbow gave him the same treatment.

The fire disappeared as soon as the second hit rang out.

Before Cinder reached her, she found both of their pulses, held her breath to confirm her find, and let them fall. “Alive. Probably with a nice concussion when they wake up in a few minutes.”

“Or a few hours. That was a hard hit.” Cinder stepped over the fallen men carelessly, as if they were nothing more than mud puddles in her path.

Glynda made a noncommittal noise, even as one of the guards groaned softly. “Their brains will be a bit scrambled. They won’t bother us.”

Cinder pushed open the door, and Glynda followed her through. A bare metal staircase spiraled up several floors.

Stale air threatened to be the only thing between them until, as if she couldn’t help herself, Cinder quipped: “I hope you’ve been keeping up with your cardio.”

Glynda gave her a long, unamused look, and Cinder turned to the stairs with a smirk, as though annoyance was exactly what she had wanted to inspire. Whether this was a reaction to nerves or flaunting that she wasn’t worried, Glynda couldn’t tell.

As they started the climb, Glynda was sure she heard one of the guards retching, and a small apologetic note flitted through her thoughts. After that, the clanging of the stairs under their feet was the only sound for a long time. Glynda guessed they had to climb about a fourth of the tower’s impressive height. She stayed behind Cinder, casting occasional glances downward but seeing nobody.

Cinder reached the top and threw open another door, and suddenly they were outside. At the very center of the tower roof, a small control hub squatted. Another guard was stationed in front of the center’s door. He snapped to attention and gave a shout, before being dealt with in a similar fashion as his coworkers downstairs, albeit somewhat more delicately. Someone was going to have to turn the barrier back on, after all.

They were right underneath the golden dome, and Glynda could feel its energy like static prickling in her skin. There was no wind due to the dome, and it was sweltering hot up close. Cinder seemed to thrive under it, showing none of the flushing Glynda was sure glowed brightly on her own skin.

On the other side of the golden membrane, circling shadows waited, restlessly cluttering the airspace above the city. Every pass of a Nevermore overhead gave Glynda chills, and she pulled her focus back down, putting them—and what they might do to the city—out of her mind.

When Cinder went for the door, Glynda called out. “Wait.”

“Yes?”

“This has to be done quickly,” Glynda said. “Call the ship first.”

Cinder didn’t reply, but pulled out her Scroll and dialed. The call was answered near immediately, but Glynda had already jogged to the edge of the tower nervously, easily side-stepping the soldier groaning on the floor. She walked the perimeter, eyes peeled for any sign of a ship but also staring for an exit route.

A quarter of the tower down. The steel docks. To save time, she could feasibly make the jump.

Glynda looked back at Cinder briefly, sizing her up. Feasible.

Her stomach sucked in at even the thought, as she stared past the steel docks and into the deadly fall to the city below. Glynda closed her eyes, and her greatest tool filled her with a void-like calm. When she opened them again, the path was crystal clear.

“They’re right outside the shield,” Cinder said. Through the unnatural stillness it was easy to hear her, even if they were across the tower from one another. The only other sound was the faint buzz of the dome.

Glynda approached and raised her voice. “Tell them: as soon as the dome falls, they need to fly through and get close. Don’t worry about docking the ship. Open the hatch and get as near a dock as possible. Start opening the hatches now, if you need that much time.”

Cinder raised an eyebrow, quickly following Glynda’s train of thought, and gave a sidelong glance to the Scroll at her ear. “Did you hear that, Emerald? Good. Thank you. Be ready.”

Glynda waited for her to put her Scroll away. “This has to happen fast.”

“You left him so he could turn it back on, didn’t you?” Cinder gestured to the man on the ground.

“Yeah, but—” Glynda paced another circle around the perimeter, finally spotting a dark brown speck of a ship on the other side of the dome and making note of which dock it was near. “We have a few minutes once it’s down, _maybe_. And civilian casualties will remain at a minimum.”

“Right,” Cinder said, as if just now remembering that. “But I’d say a few minutes is underestimating my mother…”

Glynda frowned at that but opened the door to the dome control room and looked around. The main power supplies would be buried in the floor, but a few large extras stood along the walls, humming with Dust energy.

Part of her was stunned at how simple it was. There was a plain lever, conspicuously placed among a series of radars and power-gauging instruments. “Easy to use,” she commented.

“Easy for emergencies,” Cinder said. “No one’s stupid enough to pull it back down unauthorized.”

They exchanged a nervously amused look.

Glynda put a hand on the lever, but hesitated and turned back around. “Cinder, you’re short.”

It looked as though Cinder considered how offended she should be. “As shrewd as ever, I see,” she said dryly.

Despite her tone, she straightened slightly, as if it would make her taller.

“No, what I mean is, I can run faster than you.”

Cinder snorted. “Please, I _hardly_ think it will make such a large difference—”

Before she could finish, Glynda had already grabbed her wrist and bent down to pick her up. With her left arm between Cinder’s knees, hooked around her leg, it was easy; faster than she could react, Cinder found herself lifted like a sack of flour across Glynda’s shoulders.

Whatever shout of protest she gave drowned in the shriek of an alarm, triggered by Glynda pulling the lever unauthorized, and the rumble of energy as the dome retracted.

“Don’t be a baby,” Glynda said, changing Cinder’s wrist from her right hand to her left. Hooked behind her knee and gripping her wrist, Glynda’s left arm was enough to hold Cinder completely locked, leaving the right arm free to push open the door.

All around them, the dome was shattering and melting away, panes of gold drawing back into themselves until they disappeared entirely. Glynda did not pause to admire the lights’ display, nor the unobstructed view. A howling wind picked up in the absence of the dome and she ran with it, nature itself encouraging her at her back, and leapt.

Cinder’s entire body tensed against her shoulders—fear, most likely, the helplessness of being carried driving away her confidence. Glynda tightened her grip on Cinder’s wrist as if it would reassure her, the steel dock rising up to meet them at breakneck speed.

Her Semblance cushioned the fall at the very last second, if only just enough to prevent her Aura from shattering, her knees wobbling slightly under the shock. She knew she was unharmed, every bone and muscle intact, but her feet were instantly numb from the impact. Terrible.

Around the city, the forest gave a shuddering cry, the sudden flight of a hundred bodies shaking the limbs of every tree. The hair at the nape of Glynda’s neck stood on end as more Grimm flocked into the air, giving a warcry now that their path to her was clear.

Using that as subtle encouragement, she ran so fast it felt like she was flying across the steel. She could see the ship, its front hatch open wide like the gaping maw of a waiting beast. It was approaching still, trying to find a way to draw near without crashing and still retain momentum.

Glynda could feel Cinder’s hand at her back, fisting in the fabric of her cape, but even now, not a sound escaped her. Not that Glynda had been convinced she would yell, but it seemed appropriate for the situation as they reached the end of the dock.

The ship was still some feet away, but it had dropped lower in the sky, a blessing Glynda was thankful for. Without pausing to consider the gut-wrenching drop below, she jumped from the dock, again weightless for several exhilarating heartbeats. Cinder tensed again, gripping harder, but Glynda knew without a shadow of a doubt that they would make it.

She heard the loud rumble of the ship’s engines, still firing on all cylinders though the thrust had slowed. Her feet and free hand hit rubber, and it sang in her bones through both Semblance and Aura, but they were inside, they had made it.

Without pausing to stand up, without looking to see who—if anyone—was near, she commanded: “Go! Get us out of here, now!”

With a terrifying pull of gravity towards the still-open hatch, the ship accelerated. Glynda straightened as the hatch began to close, leaning to the side and finally letting Cinder down, releasing her wrist last with a lingering touch.

When the hatch had closed, everything seemed unnaturally quiet without the wailing wind and alarms outside. The ship cut gracefully through the air, without as much as a tremble in the floor, and its speed quickly brought them far out of the dome’s radius.

Cinder was unsteady for a moment and shot Glynda a look that was somewhere between horrified and offended. Whatever words were curling on her tongue disappeared, however, as soon as she glanced up. “Emerald!”

Glynda looked too, only now noticing a girl she recognized from Beacon—one of the Haven kids, if memory served. Emerald had been rooted in place, eyes locked on Glynda, but at Cinder’s call she loosened and approached. Cinder ran to her, and Glynda watched her throw her arms around the girl, uncharacteristic yet undeniable affection in every move. “You’re safe.”

“ _I’m_ safe?” Emerald was laughing. “Hanging out in your island mansion? We’ve been worried about _you_!”

Cinder shook her head and threw a quick, near unnoticeable glance in Glynda’s direction, as if nervous about her presence. “No need to worry, Emerald.”

Emerald’s red eyes followed Cinder’s glance, but fell back to Cinder’s dress, following the long gashes in the fabric along her shoulders and back. It seemed she knew better than to comment on it, though, and she went for a different question: “And what about _her_?”

Even if Glynda hadn’t been standing in the same room, it would be difficult to misinterpret who Emerald was talking about. Cinder’s eyes flickered again.

“Oh, her?” A vague smile curled on her lips, whether she intended it or not. “Glynda won’t be a problem. Don’t worry. Is Mercury driving?”

Losing interest, Glynda’s gaze slid away. She found a round window set into the wall and pressed her face to it to look back. In the distance, the dome was already piecing itself back together around Corinth, exactly within the time she had estimated. She managed a smile. That soldier deserved a promotion.

She could hear Cinder and Emerald still talking, but the words slipped past her unnoticed. Her eyes narrowed, trying to push the limits of human eyesight, as a strong bristling sensation raked across her neck and down her spine.

“We have trouble,” she announced when another ripple of gooseflesh shot down her back.

From this height, the forest below was darker than the moon-bright sky above, black and endless until—Glynda’s eyes snapped to a flare like a burning comet breaking orbit, growing wings and fangs and crescent claws—

Cinder was at her side, palms pressed to the windowsill. Twisting, she hollered, “Mercury, go!”

“What is that!?” Emerald’s voice rose, but instinct blared louder in Glynda’s veins.

An inferno clung to the dragon’s scales as it leapt, wings spread to eclipse the sight of Corinth, a legion of black, feathered Grimm tucked beneath its massive body. Without thought, she stretched for the hatch’s lever, slamming it up just as Cinder jerked away from the wall, taking position.

From the cockpit, a boy gave a snarl of disbelief: “Holy shit—!”

The wind howled as it was pulled out into the open sky, Cinder’s dress and hair whipping, the glyphs down her dress sparking gold. Deja vu stirred in the parts of Glynda’s mind which weren’t honed for a fight. Then the dragon opened its maw in a scream, flames warping the air as they shot towards the ship.

This time, Glynda could see the instant Cinder’s Aura met the hellfire, her face contorting, whole body tensing as if her flesh itself was the only bulwark between them all and incineration. Emerald made a sound like concern when the fire split around the ship, threatening to engulf it at any moment, but Glynda caught her by the back of the shirt before she could move to Cinder’s side.

The heat blackened the ship’s shell and distorted the air, stole the oxygen from Glynda’s lungs, but Cinder’s eyes were wide and desperate, blazing with determination.

Breathless, Glynda felt like her skin would melt from her bones if the onslaught continued, but then—the open sky appeared outside, and below, the dragon rose with claws outstretched to snatch them from the air, drag them down.

The ship shuddered into a sudden turn, sharp enough that all Glynda could see through the open hatch was the ground, miles below them—and Cinder, who was upended so swiftly that she lurched down without a chance to try to anchor herself, terror overtaking her expression as she realized what would await her at the end of that drop.

Glynda held tight to Emerald’s shirt as the window she’d been looking out of became the only solid thing beneath her, her guts tying into a tight knot, but with her free hand, she sent a blast of telekinetic force Cinder’s way. Without her crop, her Semblance lacked a focus, but she still had force aplenty, and Cinder was knocked away from the open door to the other side of the hull, back impacting harder than Glynda intended.

From outside, the dragon shrieked, Glynda’s flesh crawling as the ship quickly righted itself, sending them tumbling all over again, Cinder on her hands and knees, Emerald staggering to her feet.

“Merc—!” Emerald screamed, but the slice of air just beyond the hull, right where they just were, silenced her.

Glynda pushed past her, catching the edge of the hull door and seeing only bone white skull plating, two eyes that burned right through her. Her soul lurched, but she mastered her fear automatically, remembering her fight from before as those claws reached out for a second swipe and—

The boy’s voice again: “Emerald, do it!”

At her side, the girl appeared, surprisingly steady considering the magnitude of the beast that glared back at her. Her eyes narrowed, and on the floor, Cinder’s expression opened in alarm.

“No, don’t—!”

The dragon’s claws gleamed in the moonlight, so close Glynda might have stretched out her own arm and touched them, but then they were gone. Red wings folded, and the dragon gave a snarl, dropping from the air as if it were trying to swim through it, limbs scrambling for some purchase in its descent.

The sharp smell of copper cut through the air, and beside her, Emerald went down screaming, a torrent of blood spurting from both her nostrils.

It wasn’t a shout of terror or of victory; agony ripped itself from her throat in a cry that was barely human, her knees slamming against the ship floor as her hands went to her head, nails biting deep and drawing blood from her hairline. Spatters of red dropped from her nose, splashing the floor as she fell on her side. Like there were some digging parasite between her temples, she writhed on the floor of the ship, legs kicking out furiously.

Cinder was there faster than Glynda would have believed possible, knees scraping the tiles of the hull, hunched over the girl as if her own body were a shield.

Panicked hands found Emerald’s shoulders, her wrists, her face. As though trying to suss out the source, Cinder held her close, achingly protective, moreso than Glynda had ever seen her before. But there was nothing on the girl’s skin, her head in Cinder’s lap, eyes staring up at the hull’s ceiling as blood gushed from her nose, running down the pale contours of her face.

“Emerald!”

Each breath through the girl’s lips was a battle, and useless, Cinder’s head snapped up to Glynda, as if she had the answer.

Glynda stood frozen to the spot, uncertain what had just transpired, but a subtle shift in the tilt of the ship beneath her reminded her of the open door. She didn’t know what guidance to offer, Cinder’s stare all but begging, but she did know what she could do. Quickly, she snapped the lever down, the gears beginning to whir as the hatch closed like jaws.

Out the window, Glynda could see the dark shapes of Grimm flying after them in quick pursuit, but when she looked down, she saw nothing of the dragon.

“What the hell is going on?!”

The shout from the cockpit was met with only silence, Cinder still looking as though she were trying to hold the girl in her lap together with only her hands.

Blood slickened Cinder’s palms, one hand cradling Emerald’s face while the other sought her grasping fingers. Glynda watched as Cinder slipped her hand into Emerald’s, the girl’s mouth moving, silent as a ghost.

Even without sound, Glynda read the words on her lips clearly: “ _I’m sorry_.”

Like a chant, the girl repeated the words over and over until a sudden haze seemed to overcome her, like she’d just awoken from a long slumber. Her eyes fluttering, she exhaled nothing but air, body limp upon the floor. And then, slowly, her hand closed around Cinder’s in a weak squeeze, blood still flowing down her face.

Softly, she breathed, “ _Mom_.”

Cinder’s choked response was all too familiar, emotions welling up more quickly than she could stifle them. She bent over the girl, black hair falling like a curtain, and Glynda suddenly found herself out of place, watching Cinder’s shoulder quiver delicately. There were whispers at the edge of Glynda’s understanding, soft and reassuring things, but between Glynda’s shoulder blades, an itch settled, uncomfortably close to sympathy.

She didn’t speak a word, stepping far around the two of them and slipping quietly into the cockpit. There, a silver haired boy—Mercury, she thought—recoiled from her appearance as if she were Grimm—or worse.

“What are _you_ doing—”

Glynda dropped into the co-pilot’s seat, ignoring him. “Maybe you should go out there.”

His gaze followed her nod toward the hull, but his fingers lingered on the ship’s control stick. Expression drawn, he hesitated a moment longer, eyes flickering between her and hull, and then jumped from his seat, out of the cockpit before Glynda could even blink.

As he went: “Cinder? _Emerald_?”

She touched the controls instead, back straightening in her seat, and set her eyes on the dark horizon. With the press of a few buttons, she was routing a course to Beacon and setting the ship to autopilot. Then she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

She couldn’t hear the words passed between the three out there, and she assumed that’s how Cinder would have wanted it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this?! A double update?!?!

The tired ache behind her eyes was becoming increasingly familiar to Cinder. Though she’d rubbed bruises into her sockets to wipe away the tears, the sensation of crying lingered, as uncomfortable and damning as it had been before. 

Before her, Emerald lay motionless in the one true bed on the ship, the gentle rise and fall of her chest the only proof she lived at all. There were flakes of blood on the collar of her shirt, but Cinder had already cleaned her face and neck with a damp rag, doing what she could when she knew the  _ mind _ was what she should have been concerned with.

Mercury had left under the pretense that he was going to check on the rotors at the airship’s stern, but she knew him well enough: waiting and emotions didn’t suit him. He prefered oil on his hands, the crank of a wrench, and solitude. 

She herself would have appreciated more to do, busying her hands with needle and thread, the outfit she’d asked to be brought to her spread across her lap. Carefully, she sewed red dust into the sleeves. Once upon a time, it might have taken her total concentration to manage it without causing a dust based explosion, but she was well-acquainted with this ritual now, and her mind was free to wander—for better or for worse.

Emerald certainly hadn’t known what she was doing when she intruded upon Mother’s mind, but Cinder was all too aware of the maelstrom which existed behind her mother’s veneer. 

Growing up, she’d committed the changes to memory, but even she had only seen the ripples on the surface, the endless tears which became boundless rage in an instant. Going into a mind like that, trying to shift it… Her eyes drifted over Emerald, that ache returning with the threat of new tears. 

There was no doubt in Cinder’s mind that she’d saved them all. Cinder herself might have survived the flames that would have left nothing but charred remains of the rest of them, but had the airship dropped, none of them would have walked away from the crash. 

Cinder sniffed, and her hands twitched, dropping her needlework unfinished into her lap. 

This was exactly why she’d sent them away. Hidden in the south, they were safe. Perhaps they’d thought she meant to discard them for good when she banished them there, but now she hoped they’d understand: she loved them too much to risk losing them.

Cinder wiped at her eyes again, pressing her lips into a stubborn line. Emerald lived, yet there was no telling what she would do when she awoke. 

_ When _ , not  _ if _ . 

A knock at the door pulled her eyes up, catching sight of Mercury cracking the door just enough to poke his head in. His gaze flashed towards the bed for a half second, gone before Cinder could blink, but there was an unmistakable line of tension in his jaw, a knit in his brow which usually wasn’t there. 

“Hey, um,” he said, nodding towards the hallway. “Can we—”

“Of course.” 

Mercury gave another nod, stepping back out into the sanctuary of the hallway. Cinder was loathe to leave Emerald, but she hadn’t left her since carrying her to bed, and little as he might have wanted to admit it, Mercury needed her too.

She rose smoothly, but her back still twinged, sore from when she’d been thrown too hard by Glynda. It was a reminder that they’d yet to speak since arriving on board, but Cinder pushed it from her mind, slipping out the door into the narrow corridor beyond. 

Shifting his weight, Mercury dug his hands deep into his pockets, slanting his eyes away from her. “I was checking the systems in the back. Looks like a few of them didn’t fare so well in the heat, but I don’t think it will stop us getting to Beacon. Definitely need to get some repairs once we land, though.”

Cinder nodded, her voice coming softly in the tight space. “I’m not sure we’ll have time.”

If Beacon wasn’t their final destination, Cinder didn’t know what they would do—what they  _ could _ do.

Mercury must have felt her uncertainty somehow, because he finally looked her in the eyes and said, “That dragon is following us.”

“Not yet…” Cinder paused to pick her next words very carefully. “But when day breaks… We might have an hour or two past dawn. I wouldn’t risk flying again after that.”

Neither his mechanical genius nor Cinder’s own dwindling resources would be able to change the fact that in her dragon form, Mother could outfly anything in the sky. Even the vast distance between Corinth and Beacon—which was taking them hours to cross—would pose her little trouble. 

Looking down the hall to where she knew the hull and cockpit were, her thoughts drifted to Glynda. With her onboard, there wasn’t even a chance of losing Cinder’s mother. 

As if sensing where her mind had wandered, Mercury followed her gaze and then straightened a little, doing his best to present himself at full height. “And what’s Glynda Goodwitch doing with you? I thought she was supposed to be tailing you.”

“She is,” Cinder said, her voice steady despite it all. “Quite well, as you can see.”

“ _ Don’t _ ,” he said, narrowing his eyes and pointing an accusatory finger at her. “You disappeared off the map for  _ two months _ . Even Emerald could barely get in touch with you. And now you show up with Glynda Goodwitch and a dragon following you? What’s going on, Cinder?”

The slight tremble of emotion when he said Emerald’s name didn’t go unnoticed. 

Another diversion came to her tongue immediately, but she pressed her lips and barred its escape. She’d spun enough lies to nearly strangle herself in the web, and it was only by serendipity—or maybe necessity, Glynda hadn’t said—that she’d been spared the noose. To Mercury,  _ to Emerald _ , who’d risked their lives for her, she owed more than placations.

Cinder didn’t respond immediately. The twisted, tangled series of events which had gotten them here was enough to fill a book, perhaps several volumes by the time they were finally finished, but she did her best to begin slowly. 

“Things got out of hand,” she began, crossing her arms over her chest. “But Glynda is very much involved in this now. She and I won’t be parting. ...At least for now.”

At this, his suspicion only grew, brow knitting. “Why? I thought you would have killed her weeks ago.”

Cinder cracked a weak smile. “Like I said, things got a little out of hand.”

He didn’t interrupt, and she could tell she had his full attention. Perhaps it was the tension making her shoulders bunch, the way her words were heavy with consideration. It had been many years since she had picked him up off the street, but this was the first time she’d ever felt so self-conscious speaking with him. 

The tale Mercury was waiting for would inevitably involve her: the parts of herself she hadn’t shared with anyone, that same part which shied away from even the  _ idea  _ of such exposure.

_ From the beginning _ , she thought.

“Do you remember the documents I had you steal from the CCT?” 

He nodded. 

“And the blueprints you and Emerald saw?”

Again, he nodded, this time more slowly.

After that, it came gradually, her story full of pauses for thought. The opening was simple: her run-in with Glynda in Forever Fall Forest, the clashes that followed, all the way to the wastes, where her powers sweltered like a blazing inferno. There, she spoke of their final battle—with the exception of the Grimm which had retreated at her command. 

Mercury didn’t seem to notice, making a face at the mention of a dinner. 

“Hold on,” he said, voice lowering almost conspiratorily. “Glynda Goodwitch is some  _ Grimm magnet _ ?”

“Yes.” Cinder fidgeted somewhat. “They’re rather attracted to her.” 

Mercury motioned toward the cockpit. “Why the hell is she on board, then!? We barely escaped one run-in with that horde—not to mention the dragon! I say we dump her from the—”

“Glynda’s survival is tantamount to the world’s,” Cinder said, averting her eyes. “If she’s taken by Grimm, all of humanity will collapse. There won’t be a safe hovel to hide in, no matter how far you go.”

“We’re  _ saving the world _ ?” The disbelief in his voice was nearly vitriolic. 

Cinder wrinkled her nose in a way that was wholly offended. “Don’t joke, Mercury.”

“That’s what it sounds like to me!”

“I’m not in the habit of sticking my neck out for the greater good,” Cinder snapped, bristling. The mere thought of it curdled in her stomach, never mind that Mercury would  _ actually assume _ she’d care enough to do something as altruistic as saving the world. “I’m doing it for  _ you _ .”

Whatever Mercury was going to say died in his throat, surprise morphing into stark horror. He smoothed it into a look of consternation as fast as he could, but from what Cinder could see while pretending to find interest in the ceiling, his expression was that of someone who’d just been charged with solving a particularly difficult puzzle.

“That’s…” he began, more than a little uncertain. He dug his hands farther into his pockets, rolling his neck to one side and glancing off over his shoulder. “That’s why you sent us away?”

The ceiling was empty, so Cinder busied herself by touching the open gashes in her dress, as though just noticing them for the first time. “I didn’t want you two to get caught up in this. You and Emerald are… Very important… To me...”

The words congealed in the space between them, a heavy silence following. 

“Huh.”

Cinder swallowed. “You two are...”

Flickering eyes caught on each other, the expectations they both held clear to see, and Cinder shifted forward, Mercury scuffing his shoes over the ship’s floor. He’d certainly seen the abandon with which she’d clung to Emerald, arms wrapped around her in the heat of the moment, but now the air was chilled with a lack of urgency. 

Still, Cinder reached for him, and he came, somewhat awkwardly, sliding into her one-armed hug as though it might have been a bear trap of emotions neither of them particularly wanted to— 

“Um, okay,” he said, stopping halfway into her hold. “Can we not do this?”

“Oh, thank god,” Cinder murmured, dropping her arm and retreating back a step. 

A small flush of embarrassment adorned his cheeks, and Cinder herself couldn’t exactly comprehend that the two of them had almost just hugged, never mind her own confession of their place in her life. Emotions were a territory neither of them preferred to tread, and just now, they’d toed the line, something she did not feel equipped to do considering how much she’d already gone through in the last few days. 

(And if she was she still choked up about what Emerald had called her, she got the distinct feeling that Mercury was  _ not _ the person to discuss it with.) 

Mercury rubbed the back of his neck, staring directly at the floor, and Cinder cleared her throat, beginning to consider how to swiftly move on and pretend this had never happened. 

Then, from the other room came a soft, “Oh shit.” 

Both Cinder and Mercury went completely still, looking towards the door to Emerald’s cabin at the same time. Without hesitation, Mercury pushed the door open, the two of them rushing in to find Emerald sitting up, clutching her head in both hands. 

“Emerald!”

Relief washed over Cinder in a tidal wave when Emerald looked up, bleary-eyed but cognizant. 

“No, please,” she murmured, covering her face with her hands again. “Headache. No yelling.”

Mercury rounded the bed, and Cinder took up position on the side closest to the door, one hand on the mattress, the other flat between Emerald’s shoulder blades. She groaned somewhat, but rubbed at her eyes. 

“How are you feeling?” Cinder asked. 

“Like shit.” Emerald huffed. “Did we get away?”

Mercury snorted. “We’re standing around talking, aren’t we?”

“Oh.” Emerald blinked, turning to look his way slowly. She narrowed her eyes, focusing in on him, and then said, “Merc, fuck you.”

“Someone’s grouchy,” he quipped, but there was a slight tilt to his lips. “What is  _ I _ do?”

Lifting her head from her hands and adjusting her voice, Emerald did her best impersonation of him, saying, “ _ Emerald, do it! _ ”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d—”

“ _ Okay _ ,” Cinder cut in. Emerald huffed. Mercury’s mouth clamped shut, but he gave a roll of his eyes, his arms crossing over his chest. Palm warm against Emerald’s colder flesh, Cinder said, “The… The dragon dropped out of the sky. I don’t think it’s dead, but we won’t see it until after dawn.”

Emerald gave a subdued scoff, absent of all her usual dramatic flair. “I’d be happy if I  _ never  _ saw it again. The inside of that thing’s  _ head _ … Ugh.”

Cinder felt her throat tighten, but she still managed, “What did you see?”

Lips thinning, Emerald didn’t answer immediately, but she opened her hands, gesturing vaguely. “It was like… I don’t know…  _ Bad _ .”

“It was a  _ Grimm _ ,” Mercury said. “What did you expect?”

“Not  _ that _ . That thing’s head was even worse than  _ yours _ , Mercury,” Emerald retorted. A pensive look came over her, and red eyes turned on Cinder. “I saw  _ you _ .”

Cinder’s pulse jumped. “Me?”

Nodding, Emerald said, “And Glynda Goodwitch. I don’t know. It’s the only thing that was clear. Everything else was just like… Static. Bad static. With the volume turned up to eleven. Ugh, just thinking about it is making me sick.”

She touched her nose, maybe expecting a trickle of blood, and Cinder chewed her lower lip, wanting to ask more but not wanting to seem too interested.

Gingerly, she prodded, “You said something… Right before you stopped responding.”

“What—?” she began, clearly unsure what Cinder was referring to until—“Oh!”

Terror flashed across Emerald’s face, her eyes darting to Mercury, who was merely observing at this point, and then back to Cinder. Suddenly tongue-tied, she stammered, “U-um… I don’t really remember… I was probably delirious or something.”

Cinder held her gaze, trying to steer her away from what promised to be another conversation she was not equipped for, especially with Mercury in the room. “You don’t remember apologizing?”

Picking up on Cinder’s urging, Emerald’s terror turned to bright relief, her shoulders sagging. “Oh,  _ that _ ? Yeah, that I remember. Sort of.”

Cinder offered a small, strained smile at a topic well avoided, and Emerald returned one that could have been a grimace. Mercury glanced between the two of them as if he noticed something had just been exchanged between them, but before he could comment, Cinder asked, “When you said that, was that you, or… Or the Grimm?”

Emerald’s ability to get inside the minds of others and warp their perceptions had served Cinder’s needs many times before, but she knew the dangers that came with such a Semblance. As she understood it, Emerald experienced others’ minds as a stream, and simply encouraged the flow along paths she desired. 

In minds that were willful or chaotic, however, the stream was a raging river, and she could be taken by the current, returning with her sense of self warped.

If that was a piece of Mother that had returned with Emerald…

As though the question were utterly outlandish, Emerald arched a brow in Cinder’s direction. “The  _ Grimm _ ?”

Mercury gave a short clip of laughter. “I’ve never met a Grimm who was apologetic, Cinder.”

Emerald regarded Mercury with a roll of her eyes, like she was annoyed that he was butting into the conversation. His interruption came as a saving grace, as the two of them were too busy glaring daggers at each other to notice Cinder was waiting for an answer with bated breath.

“She wasn’t asking you, dipshit.” Mercury gave a mocking  _ ohh, burn _ , and Emerald turned, maybe too quickly, touching her temple and squinting at Cinder. “ _ Anyway _ .

“I don’t think it was the Grimm. I just remember feeling so… Small, I guess? Like it was so angry and upset.” Emerald shrugged, going for casual. A moment later, her words seemed to reach her own ears, and she made a face. “Huh. I didn’t think Grimm felt anything at all.”

Mercury dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Wonder how that one felt when it hit the ground.”

“More importantly,” Cinder cut in, feeling colder than before. Of course it had been Emerald and not her mother. She pulled her hand away from Emerald’s shoulder. “You’re feeling better?”

Emerald nodded, watching as Cinder withdrew from the bedside to collect the clothes she’d been sewing dust into from the chair. When she had, she turned back to the two of them. 

“Good. Don’t do it again. We’re not risking it a second time.”

Emerald frowned. “What, you think we’re gonna see the dragon again?”

From the other side of the bed, Mercury scoffed. “Haven’t you heard? We’ve got a  _ Grimm magnet  _ on board. That dragon’s coming for us the minute the sun comes up.”

“ _ What? _ ”

Cinder ignored Emerald’s expectant look, only hesitating at the door, her hand on the knob. “Catch her up, Mercury. I need to make sure our  _ Grimm magnet _ is… I need to check in with her.”

As she slid out the door, Mercury called after her, “Might wanna visit the room down the hall first. Think Roman left something for you.”

She caught the tail-end of Emerald’s voice repeating  _ check in? _ , but didn’t bother to stay to hear the rest. No doubt the two of them would be buzzing with assumptions for what that meant, but honestly, Cinder just wanted to be alone. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle an encounter with Glynda right now, especially because she still didn’t have any idea what to expect. 

So she slipped through the hallway and followed it silent as a ghost until she was at the door of the only other cabin in the ship.

When she stepped inside and flicked on the light, she found the room empty save one thing. 

Closing the door behind her and holding her clothes close to her chest, she bent and picked up the aura suppressants laid right in the middle of the room, recognizing them instantly as the ones she’d taken from a Schnee train.  _ They missed the last shipment to make it through, _ she remembered Roman saying, but as to why they were here now…

A tag was attached to the cuffs, and Cinder turned it over. The only word there was written in Roman’s looping cursive:

_ Quadruple.  _

*

The wait was almost unbearable. 

As the airship followed its course to Beacon, Glynda sat quietly in the pilot’s seat of the cockpit, her arms crossed over her chest and her head leaned back. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t sleeping. 

Earlier she’d snatched an hour or two of rest, but now the most she managed was perfect stillness, her mind only drifting to something of substance every so often. Aside from Cinder, the two children she totted around, and the feel of passing the occasional smallfry Grimm, Glynda just tried to focus on nothing, letting herself recover as best she could. 

The click of heels was the only thing which roused her from this state, her eyes popping open, hand rising to rub beneath her glasses. 

“Glynda?” Cinder’s voice was subdued, just shy of a true whisper. 

“I’m awake,” she answered. 

She didn’t turn in her chair to look as Cinder entered the cockpit - at least not immediately. Instead, she noticed that though the skyline was still dark, she was beginning to recognize some of the features below. They were certainly back in Vale, perhaps even closing in on the school now. 

The thought seeped into her bloodstream, a subtle eagerness filling her with every beat of her heart. 

“I wasn’t sure,” Cinder said, lowering into the co-pilot’s seat. She paused, and from the corner of her eye Glynda could see her examining the navigational instruments. “We’re almost there.”

So she was right. Soon she’d be back at Beacon. It was almost too easy to forget there was a dragon following right behind them. 

That was the thought which finally made her look Cinder’s way, surprised at what she saw. 

Cinder was wearing new clothes. The only other time Glynda had seen Cinder out of her red dress was when they’d met for dinner in the wastes, and she felt just as disoriented by the change now as she did then. 

Though her shoes hadn’t changed, Cinder now wore a dark violet, double-breasted jacket, belted at the waist. It fit her well, not completely smothering the shape of her body. The black, ribbed fabric of a turtleneck rose from its collar, and the jacket ended at Cinder’s hips, tight black denim hugging her legs down to her ankles.

Dust gleamed faintly down the arms and across the shoulders of it, just like on her dress. Practical for fights where Cinder didn’t want to accidentally burn the clothes from her flesh.

It made sense, considering her dress had been torn almost to shreds—and now that she thought about it, her own clothes were stained a dirty maroon by Cinder’s blood, faded after a few tries at washing it prior to escaping Corinth; perhaps she need to pick up a replacement from Beacon as well. 

Still, Glynda had to wonder at the tastes involved in actually donning something that looked like it was pulled out of some over-zealous fantasy game series.

Noticing her appraisal, Cinder made a clipped note of distaste, keeping one of her hands hidden at her side. “Before you get any ideas about the color, I’ve owned this for almost two years.”

Now that she mentioned it, Glynda realized the color was a darker shade of the purple on the underside of her cape. More pressing though: “I can see why this is the first time you’re wearing it.”

Cinder turned an absolutely seething look her way, somewhat diminished by the dark rings beneath her eyes. “It’s called  _ fashion _ , Glynda.”

“Sure,” she responded, turning back toward the open sky before them. 

Cinder did the same, managing to make crossing her legs into an impressively potent snub, and the two of them lapsed into a silence that Glynda couldn’t classify. It didn’t  _ feel _ tense, but she also didn’t think that companionable fit quite right, all things considered. 

For a while they stayed like that, Cinder uncharacteristically quiet, and Glynda was left wondering just how things had fared in other parts of the ship. 

“Is that girl okay?” she asked finally. 

Cinder glanced her way, looking a bit surprised she’d spoken at all. Maybe Glynda should have been more surprised too. “Emerald? She’s going to be fine. A bit weak for a while maybe…”

Glynda nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Again, silence descended between them, this one feeling distinctively loaded. 

This time it carried on much longer, until the faint glimmer of light touched the horizon, a promise of the dawn soon to come. It might have filled Glynda with dread had it not also illuminated the towers of Beacon, standing proudly in the distance, each one as familiar as the fingers on her own hands. 

A swell of warmth filled her chest. This was a homecoming.

“Glynda,” Cinder said, voice fraught with tension.

Glynda turned her way. “Yes?” 

She was still looking a the shape of Beacon growing bigger in the distance. “There’s something I need to give you.”

Glynda raised a brow, but she watched as Cinder pulled her hand away from her side, revealing something she’d been concealing. It took Glynda a moment to understand what she was seeing. Winter’s warning from so long ago flashed through her mind. 

“Aura suppressants,” she said automatically.

Cinder nodded. “I didn’t think they’d be on board.”

She held them out, but Glynda was unsure what she intended, eyes flickering between Cinder’s face and the cuffs. 

Thankfully, Cinder seemed to notice her uncertainty. With some difficulty, she found the words: “I thought you should hold onto them. So there’s no...misunderstanding.”

Glynda blinked, taken aback. That was… Oddly thoughtful of her. And somewhat reassuring that she hadn’t changed her mind on the whole  _ use her to fuel a machine in order to bring about the end of days  _ thing. 

Carefully, Glynda took them from her outstretched hand, pulling the cuffs into her lap and staring down at the reflective metal. The Schnee symbol was emblazoned into them, confirming that these were the suppressants Winter had told her about so long ago. Glynda ran her thumb around the edge of one shackle. 

With Beacon in the distance, and the cuffs in her hands, her original mission flashed to the fore of Glynda’s mind.  _ Bring back Cinder Fall, kill her if you can.  _

If she wanted to, taking Cinder now would be a simple matter. She was too loose to properly respond to an attack, and with the suppressants in Glynda’s hands already, she’d only get a second to fight back before the cuffs snapped around her wrists. Even the two others on board wouldn’t stand a chance against Glynda. 

But she didn’t want to. 

Cinder was a mess of secrecy and bitter cynicism, but just the thought of turning her over to Ironwood made Glynda unjustifiably tense. Her knuckles went white around the cuffs before she forced herself to relax.

“Do whatever you want with them,” Cinder said, waving her hand as if they meant nothing to her.

Thanking her felt like too much, so wordless, Glynda tucked them into the small pack at the small of her back—for now. 

“One more thing,” Cinder said.

“Hm?”

“Emerald and Mercury.” She pressed her lips together. “They don’t know about me. Nothing about me and the Grimm. Please… Don’t mention it to them.”

Somehow, it didn’t come as a surprise that she hadn’t told them, especially considering how much she shrunk just speaking about it now. Trusting her secret to Glynda, however…

“Okay.”

Glynda turned back to the horizon sprawling before them, fondness nestled in her breast. 

The sun crept steadily upward, shining faint fingers of light across the school just beginning to wake below. The new day was upon them, a clock ticking down until Cinder’s mother had enough power to transform and take flight. 

The quiet grew thick between them, as if they were both thinking the same thing but didn’t dare speak it aloud. 

A couple hours… Glynda inhaled deeply. Enough time to see Oz and figure out a plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give it up for Team Talking About Things Is Hard!!!
> 
> And don't forget to keep reading!!!!!!!


	15. Chapter 15

With the airship docked perfectly against the quiet Beacon cliffside, the encounter with the dragon seemed far in the past. When the hatch opened and the familiar warm breeze streaked past her, Glynda felt as though she might as well cry, and the feeling grew stronger when she took in the sight of the school. Perched on its cliffside, the black spires and towers of the Academy reached into the brightening sky, morning mist gathering around its columns and arches. The grass was covered in fine dew, and a few groups of yawning students milled about, some jogging lightly before physical classes, some out early to get the best seats in class. 

It felt strange, walking into Beacon with Cinder Fall peacefully in tow. Glynda fixed her eyes on the tower, trying to ignore the handfuls of whispering students they passed—no doubt her return would spread like wildfire among kids who were afraid their peaceful days of free periods would end. They were in luck, she supposed, that she was too tied up with Cinder and the dragon to even consider it. 

Cinder supported Emerald as they walked, though the girl was obviously stronger now. She still walked with a slight stiffness, but surely not enough unevenness to warrant physical support—still, Cinder refused to leave her side. Opposite Emerald, Mercury walked awkwardly by Cinder, hunched over into himself, hands in his pockets and gaze shifty as they all followed Glynda. 

She felt surprisingly relieved to be back. She hadn’t even realized she had missed Beacon. 

It felt good to walk down the central path to the main doors again, passing by the archways and gently fluttering banners with familiar confidence. The elevator recognized her ID before she even extended her Scroll all the way towards the sensor, and even the robotic announcer welcoming her felt like a friend. This, she realized, was the feeling of being home.

“Why do we have to come with you?” Mercury asked once the elevator doors closed. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, and the way he eyed Glynda resembled the way he eyed anything large and imposing: distrustfully. She had quickly made her analysis when they had first met. Authority problems. 

“Don’t be fooled. I don’t particularly care either way,” Glynda said. “Formal protocol would argue that I not let you all run loose on campus, though.”

Mercury fell silent after that, and remained so the entire elevator ride. With each second that passed without a word exchanged, the tension between Glynda and the others only intensified. It was a relief to all of them when the doors opened and released them into Ozpin’s office. Glynda took a deep breath.

He was sitting at his desk, looking as tired as always, but he was facing the door, his hand still lingering near the button that granted them access. Right away, he made eye contact with Glynda, and his face lit up in a bright smile.

Cinder, Emerald, and Mercury remained hesitantly behind her as she strode across the room. Ozpin got to his feet, laboriously as always, leaning heavily on his cane—but his steps were quick, and he met her in the center, throwing his free arm around her before she could say anything. Relaxing into the hug, she put her arms around him, pressing her face into his shoulder as if that alone would convey her feelings.

“Welcome back,” he said, quietly in her ear. 

“I missed you,” she admitted. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” he said, giving her a squeeze. Ozpin drew back, keeping his hand on her arm and looking her in the eyes. She could tell what was coming, but it still soothed her soul to hear it in person: “I’m so sorry, Glynda. I can’t express that enough.”

“Thank you,” she said, not quite willing to call it ‘okay’. “I think I understand why you did it.”

“Even if you can explain it, there’s no excusing it,” he said. “You were hurt because of me. I’m so sorry.”

Then, it was as if he only just remembered the others in the room, and said his typical chipper-but-professional hello. In response to his greeting, the three of them gave varying shades of awkward, distant ones, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation. Cinder looked especially out of place, as if she might become overwhelmed at any moment and escape. She actually looked a little pale, if Glynda looked closely.

“Admittedly, I didn’t quite imagine we would be meeting so amicably,” Ozpin told her, trying to break the ice with a lighthearted comment. Unfortunately—and Glynda knew this—Cinder was a solid block of it. 

She managed a thinning of the lips, not quite a smile, and her eyes flickered to Emerald’s instead of looking at Ozpin. Glynda had to commend her on the effort at the very least, even if she still looked far from comfortable.

Ozpin turned back to Glynda. “This is sudden, but I want to show you something,” he said. “I want to tell you about Vi. I promised, after all.”

“We will have a lot to do later,” she said. “Now is as good a time as any.”

She didn’t stop to ask how Cinder was doing, assuming the trio would prefer to be alone to talk amongst themselves and settle down. Ozpin, however, turned to her again.

“Will you be okay here on your own?” He asked mildly, and it looked as though Cinder had become so unaccustomed to kindness she didn't know how to respond. She had let go of Emerald, but now, she reached for her again, as if supporting her was the only thing keeping Cinder rooted on this plane of existence. 

“You would trust me in the heart of Beacon by myself?” She asked instead of answering, a distrustful twist to her mouth. She glanced around, and Glynda knew she was looking for surveillance equipment. “Why?”

The answer was simple, but took both women by surprise. “Because Glynda trusts you.”

The looks on all of their faces were identical confusion, with some alarm from the kids, and he smiled wide, putting his hand on Glynda’s shoulder and shaking her slightly. “Even if her tastes are questionable, at best.”

That startled a laugh out of Mercury and even Glynda, but Ozpin grew serious, his hand weighing down on her shoulder. “Glynda. I'm going to show you something you should have seen many years ago. We shouldn’t be terribly long, though it is quite the story.”

She swallowed, mouth dry, and nodded. Ozpin lead her back to the elevator and opened the doors, waving her inside. Glynda hesitated and turned back, a sting of some indescribable pain shooting through her chest at the sight of Cinder in the middle of Ozpin’s office. She didn't say anything, and neither did Cinder—even as the elevator doors closed between them, strained silence was all they could manage. 

For a long time, the only sound was the gentle hum of the elevator. Glynda looked at Ozpin, and he seemed as unaffected and calm as always; but when her gaze fell, she saw his hands white-knuckled on the head of his cane. She considered speaking up, but realized at once that she wouldn't know what to say, and decided to wait for him to begin. 

It didn't take long, as if he had read her mind. Ozpin let out a long breath and closed his eyes. “Beacon has always been a bastion of strength and safety,” he said. “From the day it was built, it became the pinnacle of this land’s hopes. The tower which safeguarded humanity’s potential. It was the most secure place anyone could think of.”

It felt like the elevator ride lasted forever. Glynda didn't know how far down the tower they were, but she had a distinct feeling she was lower than she had ever been. 

“That was also why, when the time came for the war to threaten everything they knew, Beacon itself became a functioning capital of Vale. In practice, this was like painting a target across its doors; it had always been a theoretical prime target for attack, but now it seemed to be constantly teetering on the edge of destruction at the hands of the people who should protect it most dearly.”

Glynda nodded. “The battles of Beacon. If the tower fell, it would bring the nation and its military to its knees. It only survived by virtue of, well, being Beacon. It was well protected as an academy, and then a seat of the military. It might have fallen, had it not been pre-established as an academy and outfitted as such before the Great War.”

The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened, revealing a dark, cavernous place. Glynda tried to take in the sheer size of the hall before her, but the ceiling was so high it made her dizzy, and she could not see the end of the room. The walls were lit at every few meters by fading bulbs, their tinted glass casting the room in an otherworldly green hue. Ozpin set off down the hall and beckoned for her to follow. 

“What is this place?” She breathed, both reverent and uncomfortable, as if walking through a tomb.

“This is the vault,” Ozpin said, the sound of his cane striking the floor echoing eternally through the branching halls. “At least, that's what it used to be called.”

The vault was empty, and carried the oppressive air of a deeply forbidden place. Even Glynda Goodwitch shrank into herself, shoulders rising higher with every step she took. Ozpin exuded calm, leading her through the branching system of halls, but she had half a mind to tell him to stop, to take her back upstairs. 

“I was born during the war,” Ozpin said. “And raised to join the fight. I was stationed here, at Beacon. We were many here. In training under the academy, but undeniably ready to be deployed into battle at any sign of tension—Beacon was our home, our school, and our charge.”

His strides slowed, and Glynda peeked around him as if just now realizing she had fallen behind. Her eyes caught the same sight that had made him stop, and she sidestepped him carefully, gaze locked in place. A shallow breath left her, and when she looked at Ozpin, his eyes were closed again. 

They were standing in front of a marble stone, set into the room with elegant precision, carvings like flowers and vines etched along its surface. It stood at half Glynda’s height on top of a raised platform, plain and white but polished until it seemed to glow in the lamplight. At the base of the stone, in a small vase, a cluster of bright blue flowers flourished. 

Though the face of the stone bore no inscription, it was clear to Glynda that she was looking at a grave. 

“Beacon is where I first met Vivienne,” Ozpin said, without elaborating on what was before them. Glynda reasoned that he didn't really need to: she thought she could guess. “Because she was my age exactly, we were usually in class and combat together. We saw each other often.”

“How old were you?” Glynda asked, seized by a sudden determination to squeeze as many details out of him as possible now that he was finally talking. 

He pursed his lips and gave a long, vague hum. “Back then, we were rushed in, so that we could become useful as quickly as possible,” he finally said. “We would have been a bit younger than they are when we take them today.”

“Sixteen?” She asked. “Fifteen? Younger?”

“One of the two, I think. I don't remember exactly if my birthday had passed.” Ozpin fell silent, a contemplative crease furrowing his brow. “I’m afraid I cannot even remember when my birthday is anymore.”

“Oh,” Glynda said, already running out of words. 

“Vivienne and I bonded quickly,” he said, as if the interruption never happened. “Back then—centuries ago, need I remind you—trainees were separated into boys and girls.” Ozpin smiled, and it was the single least friendly smile she had ever seen from him. 

“As fate would have it, they assigned us both to the wrong groups.” His resentful smile turned wry. “It was natural for us to band together. We bonded strongly, fast. It was the first time either of us felt truly understood, I suppose.”

He fell silent, as if considering where to go next with the story, and Glynda let him ponder. 

“Let me tell you about Vivienne,” he finally said, almost pleading. “The person, not the legacy.”

“Yes.” Glynda nodded eagerly. “Tell me everything.”

“If there was ever a hunter worthy of our title as humanity’s lightbearers, it was Vi,” he said, tone turning soft. “Everywhere she turned she shone. You couldn't stay sad around her even if you wanted to.” Ozpin smiled vaguely as if recalling something funny. “Believe me; I tried.

“She was gifted, undeniably; her strength would match yours, with the same bottomless Aura and endurance as you have. She was an incredible asset to the higher-ups, and an incredible friend and motivator for us. No matter what, Vivienne could always be trusted to come up with some positivity or kindness. It's fair to say she was highly idolized by her age group, myself included.”

Ozpin exhaled softly. He moved over as he spoke, and now one of his hands rested upon the white stone, fingers tracing the fine carvings. 

“She loved everything and everyone with fervent passion. Everywhere she went, she marveled at the beauty of the world. Even when that world tried to hurt her with war and bloodshed, she found something worth loving. Her soul was the beacon we all followed.”

“She sounds quite like my opposite,” Glynda said, trying for a lighthearted tone. 

“In some ways,” Ozpin said, and when he next spoke his tone was unexpectedly warm. “But in many, other ways, you are everything she was. It is your common nature that binds you. To guide humanity, to protect those who cannot protect themselves, to watch over people and ensure the survival of their potential: these are all a Witch’s nature. When Witches began to die, the last remaining ones were teachers ensuring humanity would continue to flourish by our own skills. They couldn’t stand the thought of leaving us alone. Even you, Glynda, are made for nurturing.”

Glynda scoffed. “I'm not exactly a paragon of virtue, Ozpin. Even I know that much.”

He smiled and waved her closer. Glynda stepped up into the marble platform, and Ozpin took her hand, pressing her palm against the top of Vivienne’s tombstone. The cold stone sent a chill down her, but there was something else to the feeling, a thrum of something significant in her soul. 

“You don't care much for antics, and still became a teacher at Beacon. Why?”

“They're the protectors of the world,” Glynda said, and then closed her mouth firmly, realizing a moment too late that she had been played. 

“You are still walking the same path as every ancestor before you,” he said. “This much does not change. There will always be a Witch, and humanity will live on. Even if you believe yourself isolated from them, you are, by nature, connected.”

Glynda vividly remembered the sense of belonging that had accompanied Cinder’s story, so long ago now. Now, Ozpin brought those feelings back to her, as powerful and intimidating as before, and she schooled her expression carefully to avoid revealing the hot pressure behind her eyes. 

“You have had it harder than Vi,” Ozpin said, his gaze turned down, ashamed. “That Witch’s void that devours you from the inside was not as powerful in her. She was a deviation from the norm. You have suffered a lot because I failed to realize this.”

“It's okay,” she said it automatically this time, even if it still wasn't painless. “You couldn't have known.”

He shook his head, refusing to take her mercy. “I could have. I learned a lot about Witches, both while she was alive and after she passed. I could have easily known, if I had been kind enough to put your well-being before my own. I'm sorry.”

“You already apologized enough,” she said, voice soft, slipping her cold hand back into his and giving a gentle squeeze. “I'm going to be okay now. Tell me what happened to Vivienne.”

“For a long time, nothing extraordinary,” he said slowly. “We grew up. We participated in the war we were born to serve in. She was a valuable soldier, and what I lacked in physical potential I made up for in battle tactics. Because I worked hard to make myself useful, she was able to persuade our commanders to let us be paired together even on duty.”

He raised his eyes and looked around the vault. Something haunted his expression; something Glynda could not put her finger on. Ozpin was remembering things she could not even guess at, and his hand slipped from hers to press against the headstone.

“Despite her loving nature, Vivienne was often sort of a lone wolf around Beacon,” he said. “She would wander away, to just be by herself and think. It was always as though...as though she was searching for something.”

Glynda looked around, too, and something heavy seemed to fall into the silence between them. It oozed out of the walls itself, not born from anything in their interaction or emotions; like old violence trapped in spirit on bloody soil, an oppressive feeling crushed Glynda’s chest.

“We were stationed at Beacon for most of our early careers,” Ozpin said. “One day—we would have been about twenty, I believe—she found what she had always been looking for. She asked me to come with her, and I did.”

“What did she find?”

“Beacon was always considered one of the, if not  _ the _ , safest places in Remnant,” Ozpin said, reiterating his earlier point. “It was the perfect place to hide things that should not be found, or to store things that needed to be secret. The Hill of Roses’ murder weapon was both of those.”

Glynda sucked in a breath through her teeth. “ _ Here _ ? At Beacon?”

Gravely, he nodded, letting the weight of this knowledge settle in her for a moment. “Here, yes—in fact, this very vault was its home. The weapon was sitting right where we’re standing now.”

The vague dread that had been crawling along the soles of her feet solidified. It had been right here. The weapon that had shattered Bacia’s soul and massacred hundreds of innocents; the machine Cinder’s mother had been replicating to make more Grimm like herself; the device Cinder had been leading her by the hand into—it had been  _ here _ . The ground beneath her felt unreliable, like it was just waiting to swallow her into a sinkhole.

“What happened to it?” she asked, each breath feeling sticky in her mouth. “What did you do?”

“The air was heavy, somehow. We both understood what it was, even if we stumbled upon it more than a hundred years after its use.” Ozpin paused, and his gaze fell to the floor as if examining invisible stains. “That they were storing it at Beacon...it was unthinkable. And Vi couldn’t take it. She looked like it might kill her just to draw near.

“So we destroyed it.” He swallowed, hard. “With our fingers and nails. We pulled it all apart.”

He held out his hands. Glynda took the hint and grasped them in her own, turning them over, investigating them. She had examined them before, as a child, but only now did she truly notice how rough the tips of his fingers were, the scars that marked both of his palms. Each finger, it seemed, bore some mark; patches and lines of scar tissue that didn’t quite match the rest of his hands.

“It was a horrible, bloody work,” he said. “But we couldn’t stop. We couldn’t stop until the machine was only its guts and the parts that wounded us were scattered in a pile around us.  The sharp metal cut into us and we had no tools. We pulled it apart until we bled.

“We weren’t even using Aura to protect ourselves. I guess we were simply overcome. I didn’t even feel any pain until we were done and I looked down at my hands, at the blood on the parts i had touched. Vi’s hands were the same.”

“But you got rid of it,” Glynda said. “You did it.”

He nodded. “I don’t know if they ever connected the deed to us. We were never confronted about it. No one was. The machine was supposed to be a secret, but on top of that, I think even our higher-ups were relieved to be rid of the thing. It seems they didn’t investigate very thoroughly.”

“I’m glad it’s long gone,” Glynda muttered. “I mean, can you imagine? Letting that  _ thing  _ sit in the basement for another two centuries, or until Cinder’s mother got her claws on it.”

“It certainly seems like an excellent strategy in retrospect,” Ozpin said, smiling faintly. “I’m glad, too. As far as I know, its parts were scrapped and melted down for armor and weapons for our soldiers. I suppose, if it must be used for violence, that is a better use.”

Glynda looked around as if there would still be metal shrapnel left to find on the ground. “What happened after that? There must be more.”

“After this, we were sent around to different battlefields, new posts in new towns,” Ozpin said. “The war was a long one, and a hard one. Vivienne pushed herself to the limit every other day trying to help as many as she could.”

He gave an airy laugh. “I suppose I should, in some aspect, be grateful to that dragon.”

Glynda blinked, but he continued before she could ask.

“After we left Beacon, the dragon began to haunt her every step. Numerous battles were interrupted by the dragon’s appearance, forcing all soldiers to break away and evacuate, including Vi. In a roundabout way, the dragon forced her to rest more.” He laughed. “Not to take away from the graveness of it, of course.”

“She—Cinder’s mother—never got her, though?”

“Never.” Ozpin shook his head. “We were always too quick, too stealthy. Vi learned to feel it coming. We didn’t know what it wanted or where it had come from, but we grew skilled at surviving it.”

“She wanted Vivienne then for the same reason she wants me now,” Glynda said. “To power a machine with the Witch soul.”

“It’s good we dodged her. I hear it would have been a bit of an apocalypse.”

Even if Glynda recognized the words as her own, his attempt at humor didn’t quite hit her, and her eyebrows pulled together. “So then, what happened to her?” 

He gave a long hum. “After the Hill of Roses machine was destroyed, and the dragon failed to get to her, what could possibly be climactic enough to take down a Witch? I suppose the real killer was time; a battle that dragged on far, far too long.”

“She died in battle,” Glynda said, her voice betraying no emotion. He had been right to imply it anticlimactic. 

“We had been working together to attempt to find a way to end it all,” Ozpin said. “Some negotiation, some kind of plan to bring the war to a close. Between the writing, the planning, the dragon, the enemy’s aggression; it was too much for one person to be able to survive. Even a Witch.”

“Is that all you can tell me about it?” she pleaded. “She just—she just  _ dies _ ?”

“That’s her story,” Ozpin said, but despite his calm appearance something resentful grew with every word he spoke next. “The battle lasted for hours more than it should. In the end, she simply ran out of power, and they picked her off without a thought. War is often like that.”

Glynda was silent for a long time, so Ozpin took the word again. “She was buried underneath the place she spent so much of her life trying to protect. It only felt right.”

“Wait—,” she had nothing else to say for a few long seconds, but he waited patiently for her to find her words. “Wait, no. What about—about  _ you _ ?”

Predictably, his familiar gesture came: his hand lifted to his neck, touching the brooch on his scarf just as he had when he’d sent her on this mission so long ago. He smiled when he saw her notice. 

“Yes, there is that part,” he agreed. “I was with her when she died. I did all I could with what little strength I had, but she knew her time was up. She wanted our work to live on. She trusted me to bring it together and put an end to the war.

“I can’t describe it in words, Glynda. There was this—this incredible burst, a surge of raw energy. I didn’t think she had anything left to give, but that Witch soul of yours has an incredible ability to surprise me.” He paused, smiling oddly. When she didn’t say anything, he continued on: “The soul shattered. Vivienne broke her soul in that moment, for the sake of a single wish. She lodged a shard of her soul in me.”

Glynda stared dumbly. “A shard of the soul?” she repeated. 

“Right here,” Ozpin said, touching the brooch again. Then, he raised an eyebrow. “Maybe not entirely literally.”

Following up his hypothesis, he unpinned the brooch and turned it in his hands as though he was seeing it for the first time. “This physical thing is probably not the true vessel. It’s in  _ me _ . Our souls are mixed in with each other. But you know how it is with objects. We give them emotional value regardless of their actual significance.”

Glynda’s thumb caught in the notch in her ear and she shrugged. “I think I understand.”

“I died,” Ozpin said. “And the shard of Vivienne’s soul struck sparks against mine, coming to life within me. They tried to finish me off, but I wouldn’t die. Every time, the piece she entrusted to me would save my life. I understood then what I must do.

“After three decades of building a name for myself in their military, I suppose I had become fairly well-respected as a strategist. Now that I was also unable to die, there was nothing they could do to get rid of me. I did everything in my power to settle the war, and when that was done, I took my post as headmaster here.”

Glynda stared down at the rock, then Ozpin’s hand with the brooch, and finally his face. “The end?” she asked. He nodded, turning his eyes down.

“That’s the gist of it,” he said. “Then, a little more than a century later, I met you.”

She grinned then, and adjusted her glasses. “No wonder I always liked you,” she said. “My soul must have recognized itself in you.”

“Maybe so,” Ozpin said, taking a step back from the grave. She followed his lead, stepping back until she could see the stone from the front. He breathed a laugh: “Though, I must argue that you didn’t seem to like me very much from the start.”

“I was  _ twelve _ ,” she pointed out, scrunching up her nose slightly. “I didn’t like  _ anyone _ .”

“You  _ still  _ don’t like anyone,” Ozpin said, hitting her lightly in the upper arm.

Glynda snorted, well aware that he was only teasing, but feeling like she had to defend herself nonetheless. “I like you now,” she said. “Winter seems okay, and she doesn’t like James, so I like her.”

He gave her a look that could best be described as  _ pointed _ . “And Cinder Fall?”

With every grimace that crossed her face, Ozpin seemed more entertained. “She’s different,” Glynda finally said. “It isn’t about whether I like her or not.”

“What is it about, then?” 

At that, she made an unpleasant noise, leaning down to examine the blue flowers in front of the grave as if it would excuse her from answering.

“Why not tell me about it?” he suggested. “Now that we’re down here putting everything out there. Not that I’d be able to appreciate the woes of your complicated romance, of course,” he added with a crooked smile, “but as the best friend, I feel it’s my role to hear it regardless.”

“It’s not that,” she said quickly, brushing her fingers against the delicate blue petals. “Well, it’s not—it’s not just that. There isn’t even really that much to say.”

He stood for a long time in silence, watching her fiddle with the flowers. She didn’t know what kind they were, but when she folded the petals aside, she could see down into the shallow pot. It was empty but for the flower roots, which coiled around one another freely in a bundle. 

“Those flowers have been blossoming here for a century and a half,” Ozpin said. “They don’t need water or soil. Sometimes, they grow new stalks and leaves, and I trim them back down to this size. They’re blue poppies.”

“She’s keeping them alive,” Glynda said, cradling one flower head in her fingers. “Even in death, she practically oozes life.”

“Yes,” Ozpin said. “But we’re dodging the topic.”

“We came down here to talk about Vivienne,” Glynda countered.

Shifting most of his weight onto his cane, he leaned down over her, putting one hand on her shoulder. “I am finished with my story. One might say we are done with that topic.”

“You just want me to admit terrible, unreasonable things,” Glynda said, feeling more than a little whiny. “I don’t know how to feel about her, because on one hand, she seems seriously torn up about all of it. On the other hand, I’m not sure this is something ‘feeling bad’ can smooth over, especially when she doesn’t seem interested in apologizing.”

She felt a gentle tug at the back of her shirt and stood up, turning around to face him. 

“Have you talked to her about it at all?”

“No. Not really. I don’t think she wants to talk.” She paused. “I don’t think I want to talk.”

“You just want to heal.”

She opened her arms. “Is that wrong?”

Ozpin seemed to consider this for a long time. Then, finally: “I don’t think so. It’s human.”

The urge to hug him again struck so suddenly that she managed only a weak twitch of her lips before closing the distance between them. He was soft, always soft, but it still took her by surprise, his arms wrapping around her slowly. 

“I’ve missed you,” Glynda said. 

“So you’ve said.” He laughed softly.

*

When they finally separated and regained their sense of urgency, Glynda was the first one to speak. 

“We should probably get back upstairs,” she said, not without some reluctance. “Those three are trouble-makers.”

Ozpin gave her a fond look, prodding, “As bad as your students?”

As they turned back toward the elevator, Glynda gave a breath of laughter. “Worse by far. Cinder Fall is a huge baby.”

“I have to wonder what James would say if he heard you say that,” Ozpin returned. His cane tapped along the ground until they stood before the doors, stepping inside when they opened. “He’s named her enemy number one, you know.”

“A  _ baby _ ,” Glynda insisted. 

“Alright, I’ll take your word for it.” He hummed, pressing the button for the top floor. “We ought to discuss our plans too. I’ve got something, I believe.”

Glynda smiled. “I knew you would.”

The elevator rose steadily, Glynda feeling more at peace than she’d been in ages. This wasn’t the Witch soul, hungrily consuming any sentiment she didn’t guard—this was a bone-deep contentment, and safety too. 

They reached the top floor and the elevator dinged, the doors sliding open. 

“Ozpin!” 

Glynda blinked very slowly, taking things in very slowly. 

On the floor, Ironwood lay on his back, his coat burned, his pistol just out of reach, and on top of him, Cinder stood with gouts of flame in her hands. Her heel dug into Ironwood’s chest, and at Ironwood’s head, Mercury stood with the toe of his boot on the general’s forehead, bent over him like an animal. 

At Ironwood’s call, golden eyes promising an inferno flickered toward the elevator, almost as if Cinder was expecting reinforcements. 

Ozpin sighed deeply, one hand on his cane, the other touching Glynda’s shoulder. 

Lowly, he said, “I see why you like her, Glynda.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Team Friendships Really Can Last More Than One Lifetime!!!


	16. Chapter 16

“Now that we’ve all gathered here, I think we ought to move on to our next course of action.”

Ozpin was chipper, passing his gaze over the assembled crew before him, but the only one who bothered return it was Glynda, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, more relaxed than she’d appeared in weeks. 

General Ironwood was worse for wear than he’d been when he arrived minutes prior. Though his pistol had been returned to him once Mercury and Cinder allowed him the space to pick himself up unassisted, his coat was burned and singed. Steel gleamed from his revealed shoulder as the General tried in vain to dust himself off, recovering what remained of his pride after the solid trouncing he’d received. 

Had it not been for Ozpin and Glynda’s intervention, the Atlesian Military would have been in need of a new commander, and he knew it. Accordingly, the angry, suspicious glare he was shooting Cinder’s way resembled a judgement, like he was measuring her neck for a noose. 

Admittedly, the familiarity of his hatred was a comfort. Possibilities crawled along her spine, each one leaving her flexing her fingers at her side and wishing he had the gall. The spat from before had barely taken the edge off, and now that the sun was rising, she itched to tear through  _ something _ . 

Flashing him a daring smile, she watched his face contort with barely contained rage.

“ _ Ahem. _ ” 

Cinder glanced past Ironwood to where Glynda stood, the ease from before vanished like smoke. Now she was damned near admonishing, and Ozpin somehow managed to inspire the smolderings of guilt from the gentle disappointment he was directing her way. He wasn’t mad, just  _ disappointed _ .

Emerald scoffed at her side, and Mercury gave a groan, sentiments to which Cinder could relate. Neither response was missed by  _ Professor Goodwitch,  _ who looked like she was debating giving them all detention, Ironwood included. 

How Emerald and Mercury ever survived a month at this school…

With a roll of her eyes, Cinder looked straight ahead, bypassing Ozpin and his grandfatherly disapproval. The sky through the windows behind him was bleeding red and orange now, the sun more than halfway above the horizon. If they intended to leave, they needed to do it soon, and if they were going to stay… Cinder couldn’t help but feel they’d be trading one mousehole for another.

“Right,” Ozpin said, laying his cane across his thighs and leaning back in his chair. “I’d say we have about two hours at most to prepare—”

The weight of his attention snapped Cinder from her own thoughts. As though asking for confirmation, he raised a brow at her, and she resisted the urge to shrink back. Curtly, she offered a nod in response and averted her gaze. 

He carried on without missing a beat, this time addressing Ironwood. 

While Ozpin explained the dragon observed over Corinth was making quick time towards them, Emerald shifted a little closer. “What  _ was  _ that?”

On her other side, Mercury was clearly trying to pretend he wasn’t waiting for Cinder to respond.

_ “Hush.”  _ Cinder crossed her arms, nails biting into her biceps as Ironwood mentioned something about troops stationed in the area. “General, yes,  _ if I may: _ if you want your troops decimated, I’d encourage you to throw them into battle here. I’ve had a taste of their combat capabilities, and I can attest to the fact that they’d be an annoyance at best.”

Ironwood whipped around, as if he’d been waiting for her to say something. “ _ My troops _ are the most extensively trained soldiers in—”

Mercury made a farting noise, and Emerald barely contained a guffaw. Cinder managed not to smile  _ too _ much.

“If they’re anything like  _ you… _ ” Cinder trailed off, but gave Mercury a pinch, reminding him to be quiet. “Well, perhaps we should talk about a  _ realistic _ course of action. I don’t think staying here—”

“What is she even  _ doing _ here, Oz?” Ironwood gestured to the three of them. He was red in the face. “I thought Glynda was supposed to bring her back in chains, not invite her and other  _ known criminals _ in to talk! Why isn’t she—”

Before he could really begin, Glynda cut him off with:  “She’s with me.”

The surety of the declaration brought everything in the room to a sudden halt. Had it been any vaguer, it would have lacked any meaning at all. 

Ironwood gaped at Glynda, who was steadily ignoring him, and both Mercury and Emerald looked to Cinder, who was avoiding their gazes as much as possible with them standing on either side of her. Even Ozpin glanced between the two of them, sighing when neither acknowledged the other or offered any further explanation. 

“Well.” Ozpin folded his hands in front of him, finally ending the stalemate. “That clears things up then, wouldn’t you say?”

Even though absolutely nothing had been illuminated—or perhaps  _ because  _ of that—Ironwood didn’t respond. Thankfully, Ozpin took that as an invitation to continue. 

“In regards to the issue at hand, I agree wholeheartedly with Ms. Fall. There’s no sense in sending soldiers to fight a battle they cannot win, and I believe that’s exactly what we’d be doing. From experience, I know that dragon can destroy entire battalions. It was quite the scourge during the Great War.”

Emerald chimed in, “And from experience, it hasn’t gotten any better.”

Ozpin nodded, not without a curious glance her way. “Right. And I believe that staying at Beacon would also only be a temporary solution. Corinth might not have had war-grade defense systems, but I would hazard that in the face of such tremendous power, no shields will hold out forever. So—"

“We need to go,” Glynda finished for him. 

“Precisely.”

Cinder drummed her fingers along her bicep, glancing at the horizon. “I hope you put together more than just that.”

Ozpin smiled pleasantly. “Patience is a virtue, Ms. Fall.”

Cinder stared, not sure if she was being insulted; before she could decide, Ozpin continued. 

“There are old tunnels beneath Vale that lead to Mountain Glenn. They were used during the kingdom’s expansion into the Glenn as an easy way to commute back and forth between the new settlement and Vale. Once Mountain Glenn came under siege, most of the tunnels were collapsed to prevent giving Grimm that same easy way in. 

“I believe, however, one entrance was merely sealed because Grimm almost never ventured along this particular path. You should be able to get in that way, and reach Mountain Glenn on foot.”

“Mountain Glenn?” Ironwood looked between them all all. “That place is crawling with Grimm!”

Glynda clicked her tongue. “And there are even more on the way here right now. Go on, Oz.”

“There is a door down into these tunnels. The building itself used to be a station for hunters and huntresses from Beacon, but it was repurposed later. Still, the entrance still should exist, and if you can access it, you may be able to put some distance between you and the dragon. Unless, of course, you’d simply care to try leaving by air.”

“ _ No _ .” 

Cinder and Glynda spoke at the same time. Their last close call in an airship left little desire to risk it again.

Ozpin nodded. “I thought not. The real issue comes in avoiding the dragon’s senses. Glynda will draw the dragon wherever she goes… Unless, we can find a way to dampen the resonance of her soul.

“And it just so happens, I know of a way.”

Ironwood floundered like a fish out of water. “Ozpin, I’m not sure I fully understand… What’s special about Glynda’s soul?”

“I’m afraid the explanations will have to wait, James. Try to keep up as best you can.” Ozpin dismissed him with a wave and fixed his eyes on Glynda. “When Vi was alive, we discovered that by restricting her aura, we could move without alerting the dragon or lose it if it was pursuing her. In short—”

Understanding bloomed across Glynda’s face. “Aura suppressants.”

“Right again. If we could procure a pair, perhaps from one of James’ troops—”

Glynda didn’t let him finish. Cinder had already snapped to the same conclusion, and she knew what Glynda was reaching for when she dug her hand into the pouch at the small of her back. Unsurprisingly, she withdrew the cuffs Cinder had turned over to her just hours before, holding them up so everyone could see. 

Immediately, Ozpin’s brows crept up, mouth pinching as his eyes flickered to Cinder. “Hmm.”

Mercury and Emerald stared at her too, expressions warping from confusion to revulsion, Mercury sputtering. Emerald was only seconds slower, murmuring  _ aren’t those _ before promptly gagging. 

Only the General seemed not to understand the implications. 

“Yes, well.” Ozpin coughed. Glynda finally realized what was happening and let her hand fall to her side, looking remarkably like a deer in the headlights. And either the room had grown hotter or Cinder was suffering from a rather incriminating flush. “Regardless of how you  _ came across _ those… I’d say we’ve finally come across a stroke of luck.”

Emerald had her face in her hands, and Mercury was nearly as red as Cinder herself. 

Mercury averted his gaze. “Gross.”

“I’m going to be sick,” Emerald all but moaned. “Please tell me you did  _ not _ —”

Grasping them both by the hair at the back of their skulls, she pulled them down roughly and hissed, “ _ Not a word. _ ”

It did nothing to stem the tide of dry-heaving and disgusted looks, but they held their tongues long enough for Cinder to interject, quick to steer the conversation away from the disaster that was this topic. “If Glynda wears aura suppressants, she’s going to be vulnerable to anything, not just m—the dragon.”

Ozpin smoothed his expression into something more placid, but Cinder still felt his judgement keenly. “That’s right. She’ll need someone to go with her, if she’s to make it.”

“I’ll go,” Cinder said before anyone else could propose otherwise.

“Glynda?”

There was no real reason for Glynda to let this go on any longer. Even so, there was no hesitation before Glynda nodded, and Cinder felt the flutterings of hope in her stomach.

“Wait.” Ironwood pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a step forward.  “We’re sending  _ Cinder Fall _ ? While Glynda has no access to her Aura?”

A weighted silence fell among them. 

Ozpin hummed thoughtfully. “She is without a doubt most capable to protect Glynda, should the need arise… Though I can’t help but see your point.”

Ironwood was beyond exasperated. “I’m sorry,  _ what _ ? She’s supposed to  _ protect  _ Glynda?”

He certainly had quite a bit of catching up to do.

Sighing, Ironwood asked, “If Glynda is in need of protection, why aren’t we sending an escort of Atlesian—"

“Your soldiers wouldn’t last two seconds,” Cinder insisted. “Besides, we need to move fast. Having to carry a team of incompetent idiots would only slow her down.”

“You are the  _ last person _ I would consider sending with one of Vale’s most talented huntresses,  _ especially _ while she can’t even defend herself. Glynda, Ozpin—surely you aren’t actually considering it.”

Glynda was considering it. In fact, she was considering it so hard that Cinder was caught off guard by the intensity of her expression. 

With all eyes on her, Glynda looked down at the cuffs and touched the small key to each of the sensor pads, the shackles popping open with a whisper of a release latch. She pocketed the key and snapped one of the cuffs around her wrist, her Aura flickering right before the suppressants kicked in. To Cinder, it felt as if a sudden vacuum filled her lungs, the room bereft of the wealth of power that was Glynda’s soul. Like being closed in sudden darkness after staring directly into the sun, her senses were lighter somehow, but blinded, as though without the guiding light of the Witch soul she could feel nothing at all. 

Then, without hesitation, Glynda crossed the room and reached for Cinder’s arm, closing the other manacle around her wrist. 

Cinder’s Aura gave a similar flare before an uncomfortable sensation of disconnect cut her off from the flame which burned at the very core of her. Glynda lifted her arm, Cinder’s dangling by the short chain between them, and said, “What about this? I could keep the key.”

Ironwood’s eyes were moments from bulging out of his head. Cinder could relate. 

Her fingers curled into a fist, shuffling a bit closer so her arm wasn’t hanging. This should have been compromising, or at least embarrassing. Instead, her stomach twisted, full of butterflies.

Ozpin leaned forward, steepling his fingers on his desk. Slowly, he said, “I suppose…”

Sputtering, Ironwood managed, “This doesn’t even make sense!”

“No, no, I think she’s onto something.” Mercury grimaced. “If you want to send _ two people _ without Aura down into Mountain Glenn instead of just one.”

Glynda set her unshackled hand on his shoulder, not even gracing him with a look, and Mercury stiffened, silencing immediately. Unfazed, she said, “If there’s danger, two of us will fare better than one. Cinder would need the key to use Aura, so I could be the one to decide whether she’s trustworthy.”

Like a needle had pinned Cinder’s tongue to the top of her mouth, she found herself suddenly wordless. The hope that had twisted her stomach before died—if she was being honest, it felt more like it had been shot out of the air and exploded into a flaming heap the second it hit the ground. 

_ Of course _ Glynda, who knew what she’d intended at the beginning, would think twice before leashing herself in Cinder’s presence. Without Aura, it would be a simple thing to drag Glynda to Mother and offer her as supplication. 

Ozpin studied the two of them for a long moment before saying, “If you think this is the best course of action, I support you, Glynda.”

Glynda affirmed without a word. 

“And you, Cinder?”

Cinder nodded mutely, her stare locked on the suppressants which bound her to Glynda.. 

Ironwood covered his eyes with his hand, as if watching this was killing him.

Without paying the General any mind, Ozpin said, “Well then, the only remaining task is to figure out a ride for you once you’re in the clear.”

Glynda had a solution to this as well. “Hold on.”

She dug in the pocket of her trousers with her free hand and retrieved her Scroll. When she stepped towards Ozpin’s desk, Cinder was dragged along as well, almost bumping into her when she stopped to sync her device with the desk’s interface. This was certainly going to take some getting used to.

Making a face and trying to maintain her composure, Cinder glanced over her shoulder and saw the name appear on the screen as the dialing icon appeared. 

Her stomach lurched, and she paled.

The beep of the projector screen opening confirmed her worst fears. Had she not been literally chained to Glynda’s side, she would have taken this moment to excuse herself; instead, she did all she could: she put on her best stoneface and found something of interest to look at in the corner of the room.

It rang for several moments, and for half a second, Cinder prayed it was too early for—

“Glynda?”

Winter Schnee’s voice cut through the expectant silence. 

“Hello, Winter.” Casual, almost amicable. 

“I’d hoped you would contact me! After our last call, I worried I’d—”

“No, no. You caught me at a bad time before.”

“Still, it’s a relief to see you in such good health. And… Are you at Beacon?”

Ironwood lifted his face from his hand to announce himself. “She is, Specialist Schnee.”

“General.” The tink of medals meant Winter was probably offering a crisp salute. “I apologize. I didn’t notice you were here as well.”

From the corner of her eye, Cinder noticed Emerald mutter something beneath her breath, and from the smirk on Mercury’s face, it was safe to assume whatever had been said wasn’t complimentary. Both of them made eyes at her, and she returned a scathing glare. If either of them said  _ anything _ —

“Enough, Schnee. What is your current location?”

She listed off a set of coordinates, and when she was met with no response, she clarified, “We’ve anchored near the coast of Vytal, sir. Is there something I can—”

Winter trailed off, and the hairs at the back of Cinder’s neck prickled. The slap of palms against wood drew Cinder’s stubborn gaze, and Winter was indeed looking right at her, mouth hanging open, so close to the screen she had to be halfway over the table.

Cinder gave a weak smile which she hoped more resembled a smirk.

“Is that—”

When Winter trailed off and no one else thought to answer, Ozpin glanced between Cinder and the screen, his lips thinning. Helpfully, he offered, “We also have Cinder Fall with us.”

Though it had been some time, the only thing which had changed about Winter was her uniform. New awards had been added, adorning her chest and shoulders, but otherwise, she was exactly as Cinder remembered. Even the cup of coffee steaming in the corner of the screen was familiar. 

Winter continued to stare, but at Ozpin’s words, she fell back into her seat with an ungraceful  _ thump _ . She managed to close her mouth, but she still looked like she’d just been informed the Atlesian military was disbanding to become circus artists. At least this was just as sudden for her as it was for Cinder.

“I know this is shocking, Specialist, but bear with me… I’ve already tried—”

“Sir,” Winter interrupted, surprisingly steady. Already she was beginning to fall into her usual mannerisms. “Excuse me. I’m fine. May I… Inquire as to the nature of this call?”

Glynda was the one to answer. “We have a dilemma we thought you might be able to help with.”

Winter nodded stiffly, still trained on Cinder. “Go on.”

“Skipping a long explanation, we could use a pickup from Mountain Glenn in a few days time. Could you position yourself nearby and wait for our signal?”

“Our?”

Glynda lifted the arm chained to Cinder’s. Winter’s brows shot up. Finally she looked Glynda’s way, and Cinder released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. 

“You and… Cinder Fall?”

“Right.”

Winter cleared her throat again, but if she hoped to prompt some explanation for the set of events currently unfolding, she was sorely disappointed. Tentatively, Cinder offered, “It’s a long story.”

At the sound of Cinder’s voice, Winter rallied herself admirably. Taking a deep breath, she said,  “I imagine so… If you provide the coordinates, I’ll bring my ship to your location. Is there anything I should know before I arrive? Mission parameters? Other… Specifics?”

Glynda said, “There might be a dragon following us.”

Even this Winter managed to take in stride, staring blankly ahead before saying, “Understood.”

Glynda promised to pass along their coordinates as soon as they were through the underground system, and with a few lingering looks and uncomfortable squirming on Cinder’s part, the call finally ended. Retrieving her Scroll, Glynda tucked it away once more, and Cinder was all too eager to step away from the desk, wondering if that had felt as awkward to everyone else as it had to her. 

She suspected it hadn’t.

“Well then,” Ozpin said, and Cinder was thankful they were continuing on. “I believe that covers everything except… right now, you are masked from the dragon’s senses. If it suspects we’re using the same methods Vi and I used, it will search for you, and you’ll need time to reach the tunnels.”

He leaned forward in his seat, cracking a faint smile, and touched the brooch at his neck.

“In other words… What we need is bait.”

*

Ozpin’s words hung heavy in Glynda’s mind as she turned the old familiar key in her room’s bolt. He had a knack for recalcitrance—one which had almost cost him dearly—but even the prick of resentment from being kept in the dark couldn’t overpower the instinctual concern that rose in her. 

He’d touched the brooch from Vi as he’d said the word  _ bait _ , his expression rictus, and then asked for Ironwood to stay behind while the rest of them prepared, promising to explain when they returned.

A wave of unease welled up in her, but she stifled it, at least for the time being.

Pushing her door open, she stepped inside and hit the lightswitch on the wall, thankful she and Cinder had parted upon exiting his office. At once, the jarring sensation of familiarity rushed to replace the emotion she’d just forced down. 

The walls were mostly bare save for drafts of training schedules and a picture of she and Ozpin he’d had framed for her. Glynda touched the smooth, metallic frame, looking at herself at fifteen who stood next to Ozpin, who smiled brightly enough for the both of them. One half of her head was shaved, her face was terribly soft, and she had braces, but the blank expression was as intimately familiar to her now as it was then. 

Glynda turned away from the photo and decided that perhaps now was not the best time to reminisce, no matter how much sense everything in her past made to her now. 

Ozpin had asked them to hurry, for the sun was up now, and even Cinder didn’t seem to know exactly how long they’d have to work with. Twenty minutes to gather whatever was necessary, he’d said. Then they were to return and hear the rest of his plan. 

The only thing Glynda really needed from here was a new shirt. Everyone so far had been too smart to mention the extensive, faded maroon stain that had once been Cinder’s blood across her chest. Even so, she’d noticed the somewhat worried looks, and she supposed now was as good a time as any to get something which didn’t bear the proof of their close encounter with Cinder’s mother. 

She opened her drawers to find something similar among the almost identical white tops that had been her uniform while she taught classes here. It seemed like ages ago, Glynda thought, digging out something less formal that she’d used on days her classes took to the field. It was similar to what she was wearing now, in fact —save for the blood —and she had to smile at her rather bland approach to clothing. 

_ It’s called fashion, _ Cinder had said. And maybe she’d been right. Glynda had never been one for extensive wardrobes. 

A knock came just as she closed the drawer, and automatically, she answered, “It’s open.”

The handle turned after a beat, and unsurprisingly, Cinder appeared in the doorway as if she’d been summoned by Glynda’s thoughts. Without her two tag-alongs and far from the eyes of those she considered enemies, she seemed smaller, less malevolent. 

She’d hate to hear it. Glynda made a mental note to tell her later. 

Cinder closed the door behind her, but hovered in the entranceway, golden eyes flickering over the lack of decor before finally resting on Glynda. “I was hoping you were alone. I need to… Ask you something.”

Glynda gestured at the empty room around them as an invitation. She unsnapped her cape. 

“You’re changing?” Cinder asked, watching the cape slide off her shoulders to be folded and set on top of the drawers. “I can come back.” 

“It’s fine.” 

Cinder eyed her, brow knit like Glynda was speaking in riddles. Still, she didn’t move to leave even when Glynda untucked her shirt and pulled it over her head, mindful of her glasses. 

There was a long moment where Cinder didn’t speak, and Glynda felt her gaze traverse the array of scars upon her flesh, many of which she herself was responsible for. It might have lasted longer had Glynda not tugged on her new shirt and started to tuck it into her trouser, turning back to Cinder and prompting, “Yes?”

Gaze jumping up to Glynda’s face, Cinder cleared her throat, agreeing, “Yes.”

What she was agreeing with, Glynda couldn’t have said, but that didn’t seem to bother her. 

“Emerald and Mercury,” she continued, recovering some of the intensity from before. Glynda rolled up her sleeves past her elbows and snapped her cape back on. “The airship we came here on is in need of some repairs and refueling, and even if they left right now… I’m concerned the Grimm will catch up with them.”

Glynda nodded. “Ozpin won’t force them out.”

“I’m not sure that’s safe either,” Cinder admitted. “We don’t know how long Beacon will hold out against my mother.”

“Are you thinking of bringing them with us?”

Cinder crossed her arms and looked away, agitated and tapping her foot. “No, no, definitely not. Mountain Glenn is… I know many Grimm live there, but my mother never took me there. Not even once, almost like she was avoiding it. I don’t know what we’ll find there, and I’m not taking them into that.”

Tossing the dirty shirt into the forgotten laundry bin in the corner of her room, Glynda moved towards the door, stopping a short foot before Cinder. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”

Usually when Cinder thinned her lips like that, it had the effect of making her seem moments from roasting something; now, it left her looking more likely to start pacing from nerves. Squeezing her own biceps, she asked, “Do you think they’ll be safe here?”

Caught off-guard by the sincerity of the question, Glynda’s answer was almost mechanical.  “Ozpin has always said Beacon—”

Cinder didn’t let her finish, fixing her with a stare that was deathly intent. “I don’t want to hear what  _ Ozpin  _ thinks. I’m asking  _ you _ .”

For a moment, Glynda only stood there. Then, in measures, the gravity of what she was asking sank in as Glynda catalogued Cinder’s posture, her voice, her gaze, weighing each and finding them damningly obvious: she was afraid. 

The sight on the airship had been enough to convince Glynda that those two adolescents meant far more to Cinder than she wanted anyone to know. The fact that Cinder was unsure about leaving them where her mother was soon to besiege was no surprise—on the other hand, that Cinder would trust Glynda’s word when the two of them were at stake… 

Adopting a softer tone, Glynda said, “I know that every teacher here would sooner die than let a single youth be harmed, Ozpin included. If you leave them at Beacon, I’m confident they’ll be safe.”

Cinder chewed her lower lip, unblinking, and Glynda saw her fingers flex against the sleeves of her jacket. Finally, she tore her gaze away and nodded. “Alright. They’ll stay here. Not that they’ll be happy to hear that.”

“They’ll be expected to attend class more than once a week,” Glynda said, trying to lighten the mood. When they’d infiltrated Beacon before, she’d seen them only enough for it to be impossible to miss their absences. She made a show of scoffing, “Their delinquency is no doubt due to your influence. And their  _ behavior _ as well.”

Cinder offered a weak smile. “Oh?”

“Should I tell you all the ways they undermined my authority while they were here, or skip to the part where the two of them diligently turned in every assignment I issued with nothing but their names on it?”

“Yes, I’m very proud of them.” Forcing herself to take a deep breath, Cinder’s shoulders fell, some of the tension bleeding from them. “Emerald has told me combat lessons were an exercise in restraint.”

“ _ Restraint _ ? I’ve never seen teenagers so vicious. I banned them from fighting anyone but Pyrrha Nikos after the first lesson.”

“Really? You’d only pit a prodigy against them? Well, I hope they at least started with the weakest link anyway.”

Glynda gave a short huff in confirmation. “Jaune Arc didn’t stand a chance.”

An exhale meant to be a laugh was all the answer Cinder offered, but Glynda could see the glow of affection in her eyes. It might not have been enough to completely reassure her of their safety, but Cinder at least looked far enough from fearful for Glynda to quell the concern in her gut. 

Sensing that the times for jokes had ended, Cinder lifted one hand to comb through her hair, sobering rather quickly. Glynda was sorry to see the change. 

“I should let them know,” Cinder said, turning toward the door. 

There was some reluctance to her that Glynda suspected had little to do with the conversation she was about to have and more to do with things unsaid. She was becoming predictable in that way. 

Honestly, Glynda’s affinity for this kind of person was bordering ridiculous.

“I’ll let Ozpin know they’re staying,” she said, following Cinder out the door and pausing to lock it behind her. Surprisingly, Cinder was still standing there when she was done, clearly waiting for her. “Where are they now?”

“I had them properly dock the airship and told them to wait for me by the elevator afterwards,” she said, falling into step with Glynda. They were headed in the same direction after all. “Mercury looked like he needed something to do anyway.”

Glynda nodded. 

The silence that fell between them was becoming increasingly familiar, especially because the hallways were clear of students so early in the morning. Their jokes from before had been a return to some of the ease that had existed between them before Cinder’s plans were revealed, but now it seemed they would resume their uncertain standings. 

Itching to say more but unsure what would bridge the gulf between them, Glynda looked straight ahead, leading the way to Ozpin’s tower. Cinder too seemed to be struggling to say something, even more so than before, but words just wouldn’t come.

It wasn’t until they neared the elevator that Cinder seemed to find her voice. 

“Glynda,” she said, slowing to a stop. She wouldn’t meet Glynda’s eyes when she stopped as well. 

“Yes?”

“There is something else…” Instead of fear, this time Cinder looked like she had just taken a step off a sheer cliff, realizing immediately that she was far out of her depth. “I’m not exactly sure how to…”

When she trailed off and didn’t resume, Glynda asked, “Yes…?”

Cinder inhaled deeply. “I’m… sorry about lying to you.”

Of all the things Cinder could have told in that instance,  _ sorry _ was the last thing Glynda expected. Under her incredulous stare, Cinder fidgeted and inhaled sharply. 

“I didn’t expect… For things to turn out the way they did. At all.” For all that Glynda was at a loss for what was happening, Cinder was even more unsure, hesitating over every word.  _ Pained _ was an understatement. “Explaining it isn’t really… There’s not an excuse. You were hurt because of me. I’m… so sorry.”

Finally, Cinder glanced up at Glynda, as if checking to see if there was something else she was supposed to say. Glynda stood mutely, allowing the silence to drag out. 

Instead of processing what was happening, Glynda found herself stuck on the faint glimmer of recognition at the words. It was hard to place but… 

Without a reaction to what she’d said, Cinder stumbled on, “I’m so sorry, Glynda. I can’t express that—”

“You’re… Quoting Ozpin?”

Cinder stopped short, horror flashing across her face.

Replaying the scene from before, Glynda confirmed. “That’s exactly what Oz said when he apologized to me. You’re just saying what he said.”

Being caught out diminished her severely, and she returned to being unable to met Glynda’s gaze. Mumbling, she said, “I wasn’t… Sure what to say. He seemed to know just how to… Never mind. Just forget I said anything.”

“Cinder, this is the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”

“Yes, well!” She threw her arms out and then thought better of it, crossing them over her chest defensively. “I don’t have a lot of practice.”

The image of her apologizing to anyone created such a stark dissonance in Glynda’s mind that she took a moment to recover, the pause only giving Cinder the chance to withdraw in on herself even more. 

“Just, look—” Cinder clenched her teeth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. But if I could do it differently…”

“Wow,” Glynda said. “You’re really bad at this.”

“And you are  _ not  _ making this easy!”

“I’m not supposed to be making it easy for you.”

Cinder twitched, dropping her face into one hand and turning away, facing the wall. “I know, I know. Sorry. This is just… More difficult than I expected.”

Helpfully, Glynda pointed out, “You were trying to entrap me in a machine that would use my Aura as fuel to power an apocalypse machine for an ancient Grimm who wants to destroy all of humanity.”

Dragging her palm down her face, Cinder looked up. “ _ I know. _ Look—I’m going to do whatever I can to fix things. I won’t… Let Mother have you.”

Resolute for that to be the end of it, Cinder brushed by Glynda as if to say  _ take that as you will _ , but Glynda caught her by the shoulder before she could escape. As if she’d been turned to stone with just a touch, Cinder froze mid-step. Glynda sensed that she might not even have been breathing. 

Giving her shoulder a squeeze, Glynda finally said, “Thank you.”

As with Ozpin before, Glynda wasn’t ready to call it okay. But she supposed knowing that Cinder was trying did make her feel somewhat better.

The response was an immediate sag of her shoulders; relief, if Glynda had to guess. She didn’t turn around, but she did nod stiffly. Swallowing, she murmured something too softly for Glynda to hear, but it wasn’t hard to guess:  _ don’t mention it _ . 

Something told Glynda she meant that  _ very  _ literally.  

Either way, her hand fell away when Cinder’s joints unlocked and she continued on, hurrying down the hallway and turning a corner that would take her toward the tower’s elevator. Glynda didn’t follow immediately, allowing her to put some distance between them and, if she was being honest, savoring the gentle, effusing warmth in her breast. 

Her hand drifted to the notch in her ear, and her own words echoed in her mind:  _ I just want to heal _ . 

When enough time had elapsed, she tucked her hand by her side and continued on. At the doors of the elevator, she found Cinder, Emerald, and Mercury all talking in hushed tones. The kids looked as though they’d both just swallowed a bottle of vinegar each, but Cinder was adamant, more herself than before. 

Briefly, their eyes met when Glynda approached the elevator, and for a moment, they held each other’s gaze while Glynda contemplated waiting for Cinder to accompany her up. Cinder’s gaze flickered, fixing on something behind Glynda, but then she gave a subtle shake of her head and returned to Emerald and Mercury. Glynda took that as enough of an answer. They’d rejoin each other soon enough, she figured, the handcuffs heavy against the small of her back. 

“Professor Goodwitch!”

Glynda turned around instinctively, hearing the sound of running feet accompanying the call. She hadn’t expected to see a student at the tower so early, but sure as the rising sun, there was Pyrrha Nikos, looking as positive and refreshed as always. She didn’t seem to notice the trio behind her teacher, her face lit by more joy than Glynda thought possible so early in the morning.

“Miss Nikos,” she offered in return, entirely uncertain but easily slipping into old habits. “What brings you here so early?”

“I was asked to see the headmaster as soon as possible,” Pyrrha replied, straightening her back proudly. “Regarding my victory in the Vytal Festival tournament.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Glynda that she would miss the Festival, and a shocking twinge of guilt robbed her of words for a second, staring at her student’s excitement. Finally, she managed: “Congratulations, Miss Nikos.”

“Thank you!” Pyrrha’s beaming smile could light up a room. “And you’re back, Professor!”

“Not for long, I’m afraid,” Glynda said, all too conscious of the way Cinder’s conversation had gone quiet again behind her. The guilt rolling in the pit of her stomach intensified when Pyrrha’s smile faltered.

“You’re leaving again,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“My mission isn’t over yet.” Glynda confirmed it heavily. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m sorry.”

She put a hand on Pyrrha’s shoulder, trying to bring some cheer back to her: “At least you get to enjoy your free time with your friends a while longer.”

“We’ve had free period instead of your classes for  _ months _ ,” Pyrrha said, a shade of alarm crossing her face. “We have so much to catch up on when you return, Professor. And, frankly, I prefer your class to free periods.”

That made Glynda smile. “I’m flattered you value my lessons so much,” she said. “And congratulations again, on your victory. Though, I am afraid it won’t be possible to see the headmaster right now.”

“Oh! Were you—?”

Glynda nodded. “He’ll be busy for...Well, I’m going to guess you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, at the very least. I’m sorry; something came up.” She hesitated, knowing well how Pyrrha would respond to such dramatic vagueness, and added: “It’s nothing you should be worried about. I’ll make sure he gets in touch with you later.”

Pyrrha pursed her lips, looking down into the floor. Sullenness was unlike her, but Glynda could understand it. “I’ll...be off, then,” she mumbled, but soon regained her optimistic tone, her gloomy expression painted over by a determined smile. “Jaune thought he could skip morning training today since I would be here. I’m going to go let him know we’re still on.”

“Best of luck to the both of you,” Glynda said, but her words tangled on the thick of her tongue before she could continue. It felt like everything in her swelled, an unfamiliar rise of emotion that strangled any parting words she had planned to say. Pyrrha hesitated, looking curious, while her professor floundered. 

Breathing in slowly, Glynda figured out what the feeling clawing at her tender heart was. “I’m proud of you, Pyrrha. You did well to win. I’m sure it was a grand thing to behold.”

Color flushed Pyrrha’s skin and she nodded quickly, a sheepish but genuine smile rising to her lips. “Thank you, professor. And good luck on your mission!”

Glynda returned the thanks, and Pyrrha set off the way she had come, an undeniable spring in her step after being praised by her favorite teacher. Glynda smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, and turned back to the elevator. 

Mercury and Emerald were staring past her with disdain, narrowed eyes on Pyrrha’s back. Cinder was looking at Glynda, who raised her eyebrows as if to prompt whatever question was on Cinder’s tongue..

When she didn’t say anything and merely turned back to her conversation with the youths, Glynda stepped into the elevator, letting the doors close behind her. She found the ride up went by quickly, and soon enough she was at the top. The doors slid open to reveal Ozpin and Ironwood at odds with each other, Ozpin leaning heavily on his cane. Ironwood’s hand rested on his pistol.

They both looked up the moment she entered, their terse conversation coming to an abrupt end. Ozpin said, “Ah, Glynda. There you are. Is Cinder—?”

“She’s on the way,” Glynda said, watching curiously as Ironwood jerked his hand away. 

“I suppose she’s saying her goodbyes?” 

Glynda stepped into the room, standing as the final point on a triangle made by the three of them. She nodded, still looking at Ironwood. “The two she brought with her are going to stay here.” 

“I thought they might,” he said easily. “Accommodations will be made, of course. The two of you ought to be on your way soon, however. The sun is rising.”

He was right. Fully above the horizon now, the sky had shed the soft pinks and violets of the dawn, growing warmer with hues of yellow that extended even to Beacon. Cinder’s mother would be upon them soon. Even if Glynda couldn’t sense her yet, she was absolutely sure.

“We need to discuss your plan,” Glynda said. 

At last, that snapped Ironwood from his silence. Accusingly, he demanded, “Yes, Ozpin. Tell her your plan.” 

Ozpin smiled faintly, and reached up to touch the brooch at his throat. Her eyes zeroed in on it immediately, knowing the gravity behind it. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve already told James, but he is a crucial part of it. As is Vi.” 

That got her attention.

“When you don those aura suppressants, you should disappear to the dragon. During the war, Vi and I used the chaos of the battlefield to make our escape time and again, and without that, I fear you won’t get away so easily. I believe the solution is simple: make the dragon think you are in Beacon.” 

Glynda waited, though there was a growing sense of dread in her.  _ Bait _ rang through her ears. 

“You remember how I survived the battle that took Vi’s life, don’t you?”

She nodded. “She wouldn’t let you die.”

“Indeed. When I came close to losing consciousness, each time, I felt her drag me back, and her presence exploded around me. I felt her with me each time… And I believe the dragon will feel it as well.”

Understanding seized her with icy fingers. “ _ No _ .”

Ozpin gave a quiet laugh. “James said the same thing at first.”

Her eyes met Ironwood’s, who now seemed shades guiltier than she’d first realized. Even through the cold vacuum of her soul’s pull, she felt fury well up in her, hot and immediate. Narrowing her eyes over her spectacles, she repeated, “ _ At first? _ ”

Ironwood held up his hands as if in defense. “He’s—he’s  _ insisting _ !”

“He’s right,” Ozpin interjected, drawing her accusatory look away from Ironwood with a wave. “I’m afraid this is our best bet to give you as much time as possible to escape.”

Torn between the urge to lash out at Ironwood and try to persuade Ozpin out of this plan, she stood there, bunching her shoulders and making fists at her sides. “It’s too dangerous,” she managed to force out, choosing to focus on Ozpin over Ironwood. “What if it doesn’t work? What if she can’t protect you forever?”

“I know this must be very concerning, Glynda. But this is your ancestor we’re talking about,” Ozpin said, expression softening as his thumb swiped over the dark gem at the center of his brooch. “Vi won’t let us down.”

“But—!”

Ozpin raised his eyes, smiling tiredly. “I trust her, Glynda. Just like I trust you.”

As if all the air had fled the room, Glynda felt a helpless burn in her lungs. Vi had saved him before, countless times… She was the reason he was still alive now, but still her mind churned, imagining endless possibilities, all of them ending with Ozpin’s body bloody and lifeless on the ground.

In the midst of her racing thoughts, a shimmer of light caught her eye, and Glynda lifted her eyes to its source. 

Her heart skipped a beat. 

Right over Ozpin’s shoulder, a faint glow seemed to take human form, hair tumbling over thin shoulders, expression peaceful and radiant. It could have been a trick of the light, the sun still climbing higher into the sky behind him, but Glynda knew it wasn’t. 

Her soul, usually still and hollow, reacted with an intensity that left her breathless. As if reaching out for the piece of itself it had lost so long ago, it seemed to extend toward the figure, whose shape wavered at the edges. Even if she couldn’t see the body’s— _ Vivienne’s _ —eyes from beneath her bangs, Glynda was sure she was looking right at her. 

Vivienne smiled, and like a tickle at the base of her skull, Glynda was sure she heard the softest laughter. 

Light began to effuse from her to envelop Ozpin, wrapping him in a protective barrier of it. Vi’s form was fading, but her smile remained, reassuring and resolute.

Glynda blinked and she was gone, the three of them alone in the room. 

Glynda’s heart hammered in her chest, her soul’s stirring quieting until it was but a whisper. Even so, the presence of something so similar to herself—and yet so much warmer—tugged at her, and longing filled her to the brim, so much that tears burned at her eyes. Swiftly, she turned away and wiped beneath her glasses, but the sensation remained. 

Vi would protect Ozpin. Glynda clutched at her chest, knowing that she had never been more sure of anything in her life. 

“Glynda?” 

With no way of knowing what had just happened, Ozpin looked at her as though he were about to move to her side, and she tried to right herself. 

“I’m fine,” she said, struggling to catch her breath. “I’m fine… I… I know. She’ll protect you.”

His brows shot up, and across from them, Ironwood gave a sputter.

“Glynda, are you serious?!”

She nodded, and as Ironwood slapped his forehead, Ozpin studied her over his glasses. 

“Well…” He tapped his cane as he moved towards her. “I suppose there’s only our goodbyes to see to now.”

Automatically, Glynda opened her arms, allowing Ozpin to lean against her. His fingers bunched in her cloak, and hers tangled in the back of his jacket. Her face turned into his neck, and he bowed his into her shoulder. 

“Be careful, Glynda,” he whispered. 

“You too, Oz.”

*

By the time they were running through the city, a gentle pitter-patter of rain had started. It wasn’t enough to be called anything more than a drizzle, and it certainly wasn’t enough to become a strategic advantage against Cinder’s mother, but it was enough to turn Vale’s highways into sheets of glistening diamond. Puddles never quite managed to form, but the sound of their footsteps was wet, and a fine mist of water soon adorned their shoulders and hair.

More than anything, what Glynda noticed most was how  _ cold  _ it was. The airship ride from Beacon to Vale was a matter of minutes, but even in that time, she became accustomed to the artificial heating. When the hatch opened, unforgiving chill reminded her of how early it was, and how unprotected she had become.

The aura suppressant was heavy around her wrist, but it would no doubt have been heavier if she wore both cuffs. No, what was weighing her down the most was the lack of Aura; as if she was being cut off from her very soul. It was a crushing kind of coldness that came not only from the frigid morning, but from inside herself. It was a dry, brittle feeling, like a physical manifestation of dread. If something were to happen…

Glynda shook her head, banishing the thoughts from her mind. She had the key in her pocket, after all. If something happened, she could free herself and regain her Aura within seconds.

She thought back to Cinder, running a step behind her. The chain that connected the two cuffs was short. Cinder’s hand was warm in hers, and the chain occasionally beat against their closed hands as if it wanted to draw their attention. Glynda thought back to Cinder, and wondered if she felt just as cold, just as unprotected. When she squeezed her hand, Cinder returned it, both their hands white-knuckled around the other.

There was no time. Vale’s streets had never seemed more disorienting and identical, but Glynda had to trust herself, had to believe she knew the way. The repurposed hunters’ station should be on the outskirts of town, and she took all the shortcuts she knew, praying as breath whistled between clenched teeth that Ozpin’s plan would work.

Despite looking grumpy at the rain before, Cinder was able to keep up easily, and she said nothing at all. Maybe she had decided to simply trust Glynda’s sense of direction as well. Her hand gave the occasional flex, though Glynda didn’t know if it was meant to be communicative, or simply a subconscious move of anxiety.

She wondered if Cinder was thinking about their talk before at all.

It was painfully clear that Cinder had lived a life barren of apologies. Her attempt had been awkward and fumbling, relying entirely on mimicking what she had seen Ozpin do, but…

But she  _ was  _ trying, a small voice in Glynda’s head said. By the looks of it, she had never been apologized to, and she had never had to apologize to anyone. She had still tried, with her heart in her throat and her pride at Glynda’s feet.

There was no doubt about that. And now, she allowed herself to be muzzled and de-clawed at Glynda’s hand, without complaint or argument. Glynda could get herself out of the cuffs before Cinder could even shout her name. Cinder had allowed every chip to stack against her—for what?

For Glynda. Of course. Despite the cold and light rain, heat crept up Glynda’s neck, all the way to her ears, where it settled against her will.

She always felt she should say something, anything—but what was there left to say? When Cinder was readily allowing her time to think, time to heal—was it necessary to even say anything?

Above, the swirling wisps of gray clouds parted, then closed again, showing alternates of sunlight and raindrops. It was a bright day. The rain was not strong enough to change that. The sunlight only brought—

It felt like a bowstring snapping, like cutting a strained wire, as if something powerful and tense had been cut loose. If she had to describe it, it was a feeling akin to punching nails through rotten wood; soft enough to easily pierce through, but just enough resistance to truly feel it. Glynda tripped over her own feet, but caught herself and inhaled sharply, before stopping dead in her tracks. Cinder, wholly unprepared for this, stumbled to a stop in front of her, confusedly—maybe nervously—calling Glynda’s name.

It was as though Glynda didn’t hear; though she registered the sound, every part of her came up short for a reaction. For a second, she hunched over, free hand shooting to her chest—and then, understanding flooded her senses with horror and she whipped around, staring back the way they had come.

It felt as if  _ she  _ had been the one shot, a deadly disruption of her soul’s order. Glynda stared, and through gaps between houses, she could see Beacon in the distance, perched atop its cliff.

“Glynda.” It was Cinder again, calling her name more softly. “There’s no time.”

Glynda forgot to breathe. She felt Cinder come up on her side, a second warm hand on her arm, shaking her slightly. “Come on.”

As she watched, a black field seemed to melt out of the ground around Beacon. It looked much like Corinth’s shield, slowly encapsulating the academy in an impenetrable, opaque dome. When complete, it sat there quietly, looking like some kind of harmless bubble; but Glynda knew—had been told by Ozpin—that this dome was stronger than any weapon in Remnant. There was nothing man-made that could hope to pierce it.

That, then, was the concern stirring in her at the sight of the dome. Cinder’s mother, too, far outmatched anything humanity had created.

Glynda felt the twinge in her closed-off soul, like the opening of a forgotten but unhealed wound, and along with its pull her breath finally came. “Ozpin—”

“He’s fine,” Cinder urged, shaking her shoulder one more time.

“No,” Glynda said. “He’s—he’s  _ dead— _ ”

“He’s  _ fine _ ! Glynda, I feel it—the soul piece, I can feel it. It worked. Glynda, we have to go. It’s working.”

Cinder moved from her side, pulling at her hand vigorously, and Glynda looked down at their hands as if only now noticing they were cuffed together. “You’re sure?”

The words were no more than a breath, but Cinder gave another hard tug, one degree of frustration away from literally digging her heels in. “Yes, I’m sure! Glynda, I can feel the Witch soul from Beacon right now. It came to life again, just as he said. Come  _ on _ , Glynda!”

The final cry was punctuated by another firm tug, and Glynda was finally torn from her stasis, turning back and following Cinder’s lead. She couldn’t feel a thing from her soul anymore. Cinder took point, as if she knew where they were going, and Glynda fixed her eyes upon her back.

She supposed someone part Grimm would be better adapted to sussing out Witches, all things considered. She gave Cinder’s hand a squeeze, as if to tell her  _ I’m okay now _ , and received one in return.

Still her thoughts wandered, rolling over the same thoughts and ideas, a loop of anxiety until she forced herself to take the lead. As if running faster could help her flee her own thoughts, she passed Cinder and gave a hard tug at her hand to warn her of an upcoming turn. “This way.”

Reading street signs had never seemed more difficult, but the sidewalks were largely empty, and she was free to stumble around corners as unexpectedly as she’d like. A few cars rolled lazily by, the first commuters on their way to work, but otherwise, Vale seemed a ghost town at this time of day.

Glynda couldn't take her mind off the steadily rising sun, nor could she forget the sharp pull at her soul just earlier. But even so, Cinder’s words floated through her mind, reassuring her. Cinder would know if it had worked. Cinder  _ couldn’t not  _ know. After all, she had proven herself already, spending months taunting Glynda on her hunt, always giving off the uncanny feeling that Cinder could feel her coming.

_ Of course  _ she could. Maybe her senses weren’t as razor-sharp as her Mother’s, but no doubt, Cinder could sense the Witch soul, just like any other Grimm.

Glynda trusted her. It was a conscious decision. For her own good, she trusted her.

They rounded a corner and Glynda finally skidded to a halt. Catching her breath, she said, “This is it.”

Cinder nodded, exhaling deeply. “What are we waiting for?” She started walking, and, once again, pulled Glynda into motion.

The building was nothing more than a rectangular brick, placed directly down on the earth with no decor. A simple door in a dark wooden frame adorned its stone face, and along the side Glynda could see a handful of dark, dirty windows. As far as she knew, it was currently being rented out for storage to some organization or another. Nothing really monumental or interesting. Its brown-gray walls were flecked with decades of dust and wear, and even the door handle was beginning to rust. Still, it stood, and what it held within would hopefully be their liberation.

Glynda tried the door. When it didn’t budge, she kicked it down, aiming her heel directly underneath the lock. The old frames were ruined by years of moisture and poor upkeep, and the deadbolt shattered right out of the doorframe, sending bits of soft wood flying.

Cinder seemed to appreciate this straightforward approach.

The door swung lazily open as Glynda pushed her way through, holding it open for Cinder to come through as well. The inside was as expected; dusty, dark storage. She squinted at the darkness, but pulled her Scroll out and turned on the flashlight.

She almost recommended they split up to search, before remembering the chain and closing her mouth again. They circled the room together, carefully stepping over various equipment belonging to whatever clubs or teams resided nearby, until Glynda nearly tripped over a dent in the floor.

“Found it,” she said dryly, kneeling down in the dust and aiming her Scroll’s light to try and find the hatch’s opening mechanism.

“Trap door,” Cinder remarked. “We’re escaping Beacon with all the grace of an emergency drill.”

Glynda found the notch in the slab of metal, precisely in the size she needed to fit her fingers in. Bracing her other hand against the solid floor, she pulled, and with a slight resistance of disuse the hatch came open.

“Emergency run to the Mountain Glenn trainway,” Glynda said, more for the sake of having something to say than to inform Cinder. “You know, just in case something happened.”

Cinder raised one sleek eyebrow and smirked. “You mean like, just in case a horde of Grimm swarms through.”

“Just in case,” Glynda agreed, sticking her Scroll into her pocket and leaving them in near-darkness. “I’ll climb down first. It shouldn’t be more than six feet or so.”

It was true. In fact, when she had climbed down the handful of metal rungs, she found she could easily hold her hand up and accommodate for their chains while keeping both feet firmly planted on the floor.

“And I guess I’m climbing in there upside down,” Cinder remarked, sticking her hand through the opening with what managed to be a sarcastic  _ wave _ .

“For a criminal, you sure expect to be treated like a princess,” Glynda said. “Do you want to be down here catching me?”

Cinder gave a sniff that was meant to be insulted and looked for a moment like she considered rebuking Glynda on principle alone. Then, from above, the scream of a nevermore made both of them freeze. 

They didn’t need to be able to see the sky to know that the first wave of Grimm was arriving, drawn by Vi’s soul.

That silenced her. Cinder came quietly, scooting through the hatch, and Glynda lifted her easily down. “I’m tall,” she said, as if to remind her. It was probably the nerves talking, knowing that soon Cinder’s mother would be upon Beacon, doing everything in her power to... “This is easier.”

With a reminder of the need for haste, Glynda didn’t waste any time. She climbed up two rungs, keeping her chained hand in comfortable reach of Cinder’s and grabbing the hatch with her other one, shutting it behind them. They needed as many obstacles as possible between them and the Grimm that would soon be swarming the area.

Closed in complete darkness, Glynda took her Scroll back out and shone the light ahead. Though the barren hallway sloped slightly down, it was no staircase. At the end, a plain metal door blocked the view ahead.

“I think we’ll come out close to the ceiling,” she said, thinking out loud.

Cinder’s hand found hers again, squeezing. She was nervous too. “Probably. We need to go much deeper than six feet under.”

Upon closer inspection, what Glynda had thought was a door was actually little more than a solid slab of metal. There was no handle or lock; indeed, it was featureless. All around its edges, however, were the tell-tale signs of metal welding. It was fused to the wall, not a door but a seal, and Glynda felt her heart accelerate.

“Can you blast this open?” she asked, not relishing the idea of being trapped down here when Cinder’s mother arrived.

Cinder stared at her for many long moments, confusion apparent on her face. “I mean…”

Glynda’s hand was already pulling the key from her pocket before Cinder could respond properly. Touching it to Cinder’s half of the cuff, Glynda unlocked her, slipping her hand out of the shackle and stepping back.

At once, a surge of hot Aura flooded the room, nearly overpowering Glynda’s raw senses. She had already near forgotten the feeling of Cinder’s Aura. It was warm.

Cinder herself looked like a deer caught in the headlights, but she was clearly catching on. “G-get back,” she said. “I don’t...I don’t want you to…”

Glynda nodded, sparing her the agony of having to finish. She put as much distance as she could between herself and Cinder, turned her back, and crouched into what she hoped would be a defensive curl.

Seconds later, heat glowed on her skin and back, a blinding light from behind accompanied by a loud boom of exploding force illuminating the narrow corridor. The fire didn’t touch her, but she didn’t get to see anything, either. Glynda waited another five seconds before rising, turning as she did.

Cider was standing right there, closer than she had expected, and her warm hands were covered in soot as Glynda had come to know them. Deftly, Cinder grabbed her arm, fumbling in the sudden darkness until she found her wrist and the dangling cuff. Glynda heard the telltale snap and lock of the cuff closing around Cinder’s wrist, and then, a small relieved exhale.

She removed her Scroll from where she had pressed it into her side and let it light Cinder’s face. There was no describing what Cinder could be feeling. Glynda decided to let it go after guessing a confused string of sadness, frustration, hurt, and determination.

Refocusing, Glynda found the seal was no more, a twisted mangle of metal left in its place. It was still smoking. Careful not to touch the still red-hot sides of the newly opened hole, Glynda climbed through.

The underground tunnels between Vale and Mountain Glenn were now damp caverns, silent as the grave. They emerged on a maintenance catwalk, quickly jogging down the metal stairs to floor level. It smelled of cold stone and nature’s own deterioration.

Glynda looked down, finding the train tracks growing with fungus and rust.

It was reassuring that no one had used the underground network, and not even a single Grimm was in sight. The untouched decay meant safety.

“Is it far?” Cinder asked, breaking the silence. Her voice echoed down the tunnel.

“Not this way,” Glynda said. “We’ll be there very soon if we run.”

“Aren’t you getting tired?”

The question betrayed so much more of Cinder’s own weariness than Glynda expected. “Sort of,” she admitted. “With no Aura, it’s...different.”

“It’s different,” Cinder agreed, taking a few long, deep breaths. “Let’s go.”

The tunnel was a long stretch of identical-looking walls, and it felt as if they weren’t making any progress at all, even as Glynda felt the exertion shredding her lungs like claws. Any time now—right now—the dragon would be laying siege to Beacon behind them. Right now, Ozpin might be fighting for all of their lives. Getting to Mountain Glenn was such a pathetic task in comparison that her own weariness made her  _ angry _ ;  _ she  _ wasn’t the one putting everything on the line, sacrificing her own life, to take on a dragon. And still she had the nerve to complain. Glynda grit her teeth. A warm hand found hers again, as if Cinder had heard her thoughts.

Neither of them said anything, focusing all their energy on the race.

Soon enough, they were forced to slow to a walk, both of them looking at the same thing in the gloom. Glynda’s scroll illuminated the telltale scratches of Creepers and other subterranean Grimm. They didn’t say anything, but their eyes conveyed enough:  _ they needed to be careful _ .

Now they moved slower, sure they were reaching the deeper portions of the tunnels, and their caution was well founded. 

A flicker of movement caught Glynda’s attention, and she shoved Cinder towards an outcrop of rocks. Glynda dropped to one knee, and Cinder followed suit, sensing it to be an inopportune time for questions. Hiding her scroll’s light against her torso, Glynda listened as something shuffled over stone, soft snuffling sounds making her think it was a Creeper. Many underground Grimm were blind, but she didn’t want to risk it. 

By the sound of it, there might have been two, an easy kill for Glynda—if she had Aura. Now, she felt uncomfortably vulnerable, quieting her breathing and trying to simply blend in with the environment.

The Grimm shuffled closer, and Glynda felt Cinder press into her side. 

They waited in the darkness, measuring time by their pounding pulses, until finally the two Grimm moved on, the sound of them disappearing into the distance. 

Cinder stood first, and Glynda unveiled her scroll, light filling the cavern again. Lowering her voice, she said, “From here, we need to be more careful. We must be close.”

Glynda nodded, and they continued on. 

Moving more slowly, they picked their way through different tunnels, doing their best to avoid the Grimm that called this place home. Glynda figured it had to have been a few hours when, finally, the black mouth of an arched opening met them around a curve in the tracks. Speeding up to a brisk walk, Glynda stepped through, entering the underground city below Mountain Glenn.

Faint natural light peeked in through cracks in the ceiling, and the long-abandoned buildings were silent and still as headstones. Through foliage on the surface and clinging plants on the ceiling, the light filtered in green, casting the ghost town in an unnatural hue.

“This is it,” Glynda said, leaning one hand against the wall and turning off her scroll’s light.

“It’s huge,” Cinder said, her golden eyes trailing along the walls and finally rising to the ceiling, taking in the cavern’s size. “People really lived down here?”

As if living anywhere but under the sweltering sky was unthinkable. Glynda smiled. “Thousands.”

When she looked at Cinder, something else caught her eye. She pushed past Cinder, approaching the wall.

A network of plants grew like reaching tentacles, thick and green and covered in thorns. They reached towards the tunnel Glynda and Cinder had emerged from, and when Glynda tried to follow the vines into the town with her eyes she couldn’t see an end to them.

“That’s unpleasant-looking,” Cinder commented, and Glynda heard the shuffling of fabric as she looked around. “They’re everywhere.”

She was right. When Glynda looked around with new eyes, she saw vines on every surface, spreading out of the city’s core like stretching fingers. There were no flowers or roots that she could see, only endless thorned vines in a static crawl towards the exits.

Glynda reached out, touching the vine nearest to her curiously. It easily came off the wall as if it had been stuck by force of will alone. There was nothing else remarkable about it, but Glynda remained curious, touching one of the thorns with her thumb thoughtlessly. It easily punctured her skin, lodging in her flesh.

She managed a sound of sheer surprise before giving a small “ow”.

When she let go of the plant, the thorn dislodged from her thumb, and a perfect round drop of blood surged out to replace it. It stung.

For a long moment, Glynda and Cinder both stared at the blood, perplexed. It was such a minor injury, it seemed almost hilarious to see blood; even more so when it didn’t stop, running a thin trail of blood down her skin. A tiny prick should have been swallowed by her Aura before it could even begin to bleed, but—

Remembrance dawned on them in unison, and they glanced down at their cuffed hands.

“Right,” Cinder said. “We should probably be careful about getting hurt.”

Glynda put her thumb in her mouth, then wiped it on her thigh impatiently. “Well, that was stupid. Let’s move on.”

Cinder nodded, but there was a hesitance in her movements, eyes practically glowing uncertainty.

“Your mother never took you here, was that right?”

“Never,” Cinder confirmed. “As I said, it was like she was consciously avoiding it.”

Glynda’s eyes followed the vines in the floor, noting the straightforward determination that seemed to drive their growth patterns. There was no vying for resources; not water, not sunlight, just straight, clean lines of escape from the center. Not a single thorned vine had reached the exit, but Glynda felt the sudden urge to cut them all short so none of them would ever reach it.

“We made it here,” Glynda said. “What now?”

“We wait. She’ll quit eventually. She won’t come here.”

“You’re sure?”

Cinder made rigid eye contact for what felt like the first time in a while. “She  _ never  _ set foot near this place. With your Aura undetectable, she won’t know where to go, but this is the  _ one place  _ she’ll never come.”

Glynda maintained the eye contact, then nodded, and she could see a hint of relief on Cinder’s face. “Has she ever said anything of it?”

“No,” Cinder said. “And she forbade me from coming here.” There was a strange sort of sadness to her smile, but she closed her eyes and gave a short laugh, banishing it.

“Do you feel anything?” Glynda herself was straining every sense she had, but without her Aura she felt blind. She could not tell if the creeping feeling in her spine was a warning of something ahead, or simply her own uncertainty feeding her fear.

Cinder was silent, her face growing blank, and she slowly shook her head. “I’m just as much in the dark as you are, Glynda. Vivienne’s soul was so powerful, I could feel that easily, but—I don’t feel anything here, except a bit of apprehension.”

“Me too.”

“I think that’s just my upbringing, though,” Cinder said quickly, deflecting fear. “My mother was so weird about this place, her discomfort probably just...rubbed off on me.”

Glynda exhaled, trying to quell anxiety, and took Cinder’s hand again. “Let’s go. We can find a place to sit down. Rest a bit.”

For some reason, going deeper into the underground Mountain Glenn was the last thing she wanted, but Glynda forced her legs to move. Everything was silent, aside from their footsteps and breaths, and somehow, that was her biggest solace. 


	17. Chapter 17

The descent from the many by-paths into the city proper was steep, the sides carved directly into the bedrock and permitting travel up and down only in single-file order. Which, considering the short chain between Glynda and Cinder, made traversing the narrow trail down from their particular tunnel exceedingly precarious.

Despite how easily they usually moved in tandem, Glynda struggled not to step on Cinder’s heels, her strides much longer. It had been for this reason that Cinder went first, determined she would not be forced to chase Glynda down the extensive network of paths to the streets below.

“It’s no wonder the people here all died when Grimm found this place,” Cinder commented, trying to get Glynda’s attention with a sharp look over her shoulder. “They weren’t exactly planning for an escape.”

In the distance, black, reptilian shapes of Creepers danced nimbly across the impossible slopes, whole packs of them clustering at the mouths of other tunnels and on thin ledges. Ozpin had been right about the disuse of this particular passage by the Grimm. Aside from the two who had passed them earlier, the Grimm seemed to stick to other areas.

Reluctantly, Glynda turned away from the other trails down into the city—and the dark shapes moving among them. “It’s not like the creatures of Grimm just _found_ it. An explosion opened up another cavern filled with subterranean Grimm, I think. Did your mother ever—”

“I told you: Mother never came here. I don’t know any more about Mountain Glenn than you do.”

Cinder’s tone offered no chance for furthering questioning. Glynda made a sound of annoyance, but she didn’t press.

Instead, she turned her attention from the thick vines which mapped their way down. Like the tendrils of a deep sea creature, they climbed up the sides of the stone, searching for purchase and reaching higher and higher, intent on escape or total strangulation of the landscape.

From here, Glynda could see they grew blacker and bigger within the city itself, wrapping around the remains of primitive buildings. It resembled a parasitic infection, one which had long since outgrown the host, killing it and flourishing within the cadaver. It even looked as if the aberration could be traced to a particular location, a central portion of the city swallowed entirely.

Strangely enough, where the vines grew thickest, the Grimm seemed to avoid all together. Glynda couldn’t see a single Creeper within the city itself.

“What do you think about these vines?” Glynda asked, keeping her voice down so as not to attract any unnecessary attention. In an open chasm like this, loud noises were sure to echo.

Cinder’s head tilted to the side, perhaps taking in the vine which grew to their immediate right, forcing them to hug the ledge rather than the wall for fear of the impressive thorns each growth boasted. “I’m no plant expert, but I didn’t think anything could live down here except Grimm.”

“Is that sunlight up there?” The ceiling and walls emitted a green glow, but whether it was through crevices or a luminescent type of dust was unclear.

“Glynda,” Cinder said. “I think we have more important things to worry about.”

_Someone_ was on edge.

If Glynda was being honest, she felt the same, but talking was better than eerie silence. It didn’t help that the more Glynda looked at the odd vines, the more she found them utterly unnatural. They shouldn’t have been able to survive down here, and their virility in the face of that unsettled her.

On the other hand, Cinder seemed entirely fixated on the other worry in the cavern: the Grimm. Glynda noticed her staring at a pack of at least seven moving in the distance—far enough away not to warrant action, but close enough to concern and a wide berth.

Glynda’s mouth pressed into a line.

It was strange, not being the focus of their attention. As a Witch, she’d grown up with the uncanny tendency to draw Grimm like a beacon. On hunts, she was always the first targeted, and the fact that there were so many Grimm here now who just seemed completely _unaware_ of her…

A realization hit her: Cinder must have felt the same. For someone who had never had anything to fear from Grimm to suddenly be forced to hide from a couple of small-fry… She wondered what was going through her head.

“Cinder,” Glynda said, tugging on her hand a little to get her attention.

Cinder didn’t pause, but she did respond. “Hm?”

“Those Grimm won’t recognize you, will they?”

“...No. I’d need my Aura to command them.”

“With those marks on your skin?”

It had been some time since Glynda had seen them—her new outfit showed almost no skin, in a stark contrast to her old one—but she still remembered the way they seemed to flare with a life of their own when she was near the Grimm. In fact, now that she was thinking about it, she could trace the unease she’d felt around them to something instinctual.

Glynda could have sighed at her own blindness. The only thing that could have made the truth about Cinder any clearer would have been if she’d sported a set of horns just like her mother.

Cinder nodded. “Right.”

“Hm.” Glynda pondered it a moment. “You said… Before we arrived in Corinth, you said those marks helped keep you alive.”

There was always a moment of hesitation right before Cinder divulged anything of her past. Sure enough, after a beat, Cinder said, “I was told they stabilized my Aura. I don’t remember ever not having them, but I do remember having quite a few skinned knees as a child.”

Cracking a small smile over her shoulder, Cinder said, “My Aura wasn’t always what it is now.”

“I can’t imagine you getting hurt so easily,” Glynda admitted.

Sure, she’d seen Cinder injured before, but it had taken nothing short of an ancient humanoid Grimm and this generation's Witch to do it.

With a roll of her eyes, she shrugged and said, “We weren’t all blessed with a boundless Aura, Glynda. If you noticed, my mother doesn’t have an one at all.”

Hot blood on her fingers and the grip of a knife against her palm—she remembered, yes, but vaguely, like it had been a dream. Glynda was used to being left only with hazy memories of her fights, each hunt leaving only only tactile recollections and analytical assessments of her enemies, but the clash with Cinder’s mother was especially distant, as though she had merely spectated someone else’s battle.

The one thing that did stick out in her mind was the feel off Cinder’s weak pulse beneath her fingers, her body lifeless on the ground.

Swallowing, Glynda turned her thoughts elsewhere, saying, “I stabbed her. With my knife.”

Cinder’s fingers tightened around hers, her heartbeat now strong enough that Glynda could feel it in her hand. It was comforting. “Did you think I didn’t notice? When she broke your crop and you pulled that stunt…I thought you would kill each other.”

Though her face remained determinedly neutral, butterflies danced in her gut. “Is that why you intervened?”

Cinder turned, trying for a flippant smile, but Glynda couldn’t help but notice her expression was more of a wince. Her free hand twisted in the fabric of her coat where her mother had all but shattered her ribs. “Don’t remind me. That was one of my more idiotic plans. Self-sacrifice isn’t exactly my style.”

Yet here she was, travelling into the bowels of the planet to escape someone she should have called an ally. She had barely balked when Glynda suggested the suppressants at all, still the first person to volunteer to go with her, leaving those two kids behind. For all that Cinder claimed selflessness wasn’t her style, she was awfully determined to do whatever it took for Glynda.

That light, warm feeling returned, her stomach flipping as Cinder led them on without any lingering looks or sass. They moved in silence around the bends and twists of the path, but Glynda’s eyes remained squarely between Cinder’s shoulder blades, working her jaw in order to loosen the words lodged in her throat.

Finally, she managed to say, “I was worried about you too. I think.”

“You _think_?” Cinder didn’t stop or turn around, but Glynda could tell she was making a face. “I’m not sure how reassuring I’m meant to find that.”

Glynda frowned, but recognized Cinder’s needling for what it was. “It’s a bit of a blur. I carried you out of there, didn’t I? Besides, I had good reason to be upset with you.”

Though those reasons included a very nasty end for Glynda, there wasn’t much of a bite to her words. If anything, it felt like she was prodding back, not out for blood. It was strange, all things considered, but she supposed Cinder was atoning—in her own way.

“That’s fair,” Cinder said, pausing. Clearly she was unsure how sound this line of conversation was. “I _guess_.”

As if to reassure her, Glynda huffed. “You’re just sore because you want me to make an embarrassing confession. Like the ones you’ve been making for some time now.”

The reaction was immediate: Cinder turned over her shoulder to try giving a sneer, the corners of her mouth quirked even through the expression. “And you’re just feeling confident because I don’t have any Aura to shut you up.”

“You could always try hand-to-hand.”

“Or _not_.”

That Glynda was a solid head taller than her and at least fifty pounds heavier didn’t exactly make for good chances should Cinder try, and she knew it. Still, falling back into this sort of dynamic was comfortable, the oppressive atmosphere of this place held at bay by their banter.

In comparison to the city rising up before them, Cinder was a steadying presence, almost like an anchor.

Glynda remembered she’d felt the same Corinth was first attacked, their hands intertwined as they rushed through the chaos. Letting go of her then had felt like being swept away in the madness. Glynda couldn’t help the small smile on her face as her gaze trailed down to their hands.

A persistent flush rose to her cheeks at just the thought, and she stifled the urge to bury her face in her free hand if only because doing so would have inevitably drawn Cinder’s attention. She did her best to look stalwart, like she wasn’t imagining them hurtling through the air down from Corinth’s docks, Cinder’s arms around her waist.

It was funny—even in total freefall, she felt better when Cinder was there. At this point, the handcuffs weren’t even necessary. Glynda trusted her.

Exhaling sharply, Glynda turned her attention elsewhere. Talk about _embarrassing confessions_.

Her only salve was that if anything, Cinder had apparently not realized, so determined to prove she wasn’t a threat that she’d all but rushed back to shackle her Aura again after blasting open the path. If Glynda had known how to make the admission any less shameful, she might have mentioned it to her, but as it was, she felt tongue-tied, Cinder’s hand warm in her own.

Glynda dug her hand into her pocket, fingers closing around the key. It wouldn’t take much. Just a quick off-hand mention. Totally casual.

“So…”

“Hm?”

Glynda touched the back of her neck, pressing her lips into a line. “Mmm...sometimes you seem smaller when we’re alone. Not intimidating at all.”

“ _Thanks_ , Glynda.”

*

The closer they got to the city, the farther they ventured from the Creepers which stalked the walls of the cavern in sizeable packs. Where before, the sounds of them moving about had drifted through the emptiness, now the only sounds were of Cinder’s heels against the stone as she stepped over bundles of vines stretched out across the ground.

Even their quips died out in the face of this, and so Glynda was left with nothing but the feel of Cinder’s hand in hers as a salve to her mounting anxiety.

The entire city seemed to press down on them as they passed the first lines of buildings, and a deep sense of wrongness collected like a stone in Glynda’s stomach. Cinder too seemed nervous, moving as though she expected something to leap out at them at any moment.

There were no corpses here, the ages surely reducing them to nothing more than dust, but beneath the tangles of vines, Glynda sometimes observed a blackened portion of stone. Like a rot had settled into the very core of this place, everywhere they looked they found proof that death had claimed the city, swallowing it and its inhabitants whole.

Except, of course, for the vines.

“Glynda,” Cinder said, her voice echoing even though she’d spoken softly. “I think we should rest.”

“Now?”

“We’ve been going for hours, and… I think I’d like to recover a little before we go any further.”

Now that she mentioned it, Glynda took in the state of her body, finding that without her limitless Aura, even she was succumbing to exhaustion. An unusual sensation, considering they’d rested only a few hours beforehand, but she supposed this was the price of reigning in her Aura.

Glancing around, Glynda found most of their options looked close to crumbling in on themselves or were overtaken with thorny tendrils, but in the distance, she spotted something that looked usable.

“How about there?”

She pointed, and Cinder’s gaze followed to the squat structure nearby. It, like the rest, was wrapped in growths, but there seemed to be some kind of balcony at the top which was relatively free of the vines.

Cinder considered a moment before saying, “It will do.”

With Cinder leading the way, they made their way over, entering by ducking beneath a partially covered doorway and bypassing what looked to be ancient machines, their purposes unknown. The stairs were constructed of some kind of concrete, and so they took them with less worry, climbing the two flights until they found the balcony.

There was nothing at the top, so both of them claimed a section of floor that would allow them to lean back against the building they’d just emerged from and recuperate.

Glynda sagged in relief the moment she sat down. Without Aura, all her muscles ached, a quiet but pervasive reminder of what she lacked. Huddled next to Cinder, she did what she could to massage her calves with one hand, resisting the urge to wince at every press of her thumb into the bundles of tension.

Cinder looked just as disconcerted with the state of her body, crowded in on herself like she was—like she was _cold_?

Glynda watched curiously, one of Cinder’s legs up by her chest, her free arm wrapped around it. Her scowl was telling, especially when she turned it on Glynda.

“What?”

“You’re not cold, are you?”

Rolling her eyes, she gestured towards their connected hands. “I’m only as vulnerable as you, Glynda.”

Glynda kept rubbing circles into her muscles, but accepted the response with a nod.

Beside her, Cinder shifted, no less stiff than before. “I was just thinking.”

“Oh.”

“About our next move. Ozpin has given us some time, but… From what you said, I’m not sure how long he’ll be able to keep my mother’s attention.”

“We still have these.” Glynda lifted her cuffed hand, dragging Cinder’s hand upward as well.

“She’ll think you’re in Beacon,” Cinder said without missing a beat. “When the Witch Soul within Ozpin stops resonating, she’ll think you’re within the school, just hiding. And Beacon’s defenses won’t last forever, which means everyone inside…”

In her mind’s eye, Glynda could see the faces of Emerald and Mercury, sure that they were the cause of that strained note in Cinder’s tone. Not that she blamed her. The thought of the school Glynda had called home since she was twelve being reduced to ash in the dragon’s wake… Ozpin’s rictus smile and even the soft faces of her students stuck like a lump in her throat.

“So we take them off.”

Golden eyes fell upon her. “And then what?”

Glynda knew the laws of nature: hunt or be hunted. Cinder had yet to truly raise a hand to the Grimm; without a doubt, she wouldn’t dare against her own mother. Which only left…

“We run,” she said. “Until she can’t follow us. Ozpin and Vivienne did it through the Great War. We can do it too.”

Cinder considered that. “I don’t think it will be the same as when Vivienne was alive.”

Glynda was quiet and waited for her to continue.

Rolling her shoulder, Cinder flexed her fingers and took a deep breath. “Her state of mind is different now, I think. During the war, she wasn’t alone. She had a companion, an Alpha Beowolf named Hati. He was like family. More than the others. Sometimes it seemed like the two of them were of one mind… But he was killed at Corinth before we arrived, and now she’s alone.

“I don’t know what she thinks has happened to me… Without the two of us, there’s nothing more important than hunting you. I… Don’t think she’ll stop this time. She’s angry and hurt and...”

That the subject was difficult to talk about was obvious, but something stuck in Glynda’s mind above all. When Cinder made no attempt to continue, Glynda leaned back against the wall and tucked her free hand into her lap, saying, “I’m sorry.”

From where she’d been intently studying the floor, Cinder looked up sharply. “What?”

“You said that Beowolf was dead. And that he was like family.”

“To Mother. I mean, I grew up with him… He was always at her side, so the three of us were always…” Cinder trailed off, pressing her lips into a tight line. Her fingers dug into the back of her knee, arm still pulling one leg towards her chest. “You don’t need to be sorry. My family wouldn’t be sorry if you died.”

“Do you have more than just him and your mother?”

Cinder gave a clipped laugh. “If you’re asking about a father, don’t bother. I’m sure he was human, and I’m sure he couldn’t have survived long after meeting my mother. Not many villages survived a visit from her.”

Glynda stared. “Your father was human? But your mother...”

“She can take the form of a dragon.” Cinder shrugged. “I don’t think being able to assume a more human form would be so strange.”

“Hm.” She supposed so, though from the sound of it, Cinder was only guessing. Either way, she seemed relieved to have left the matter of Hati behind for now, and Glynda decided to let it rest. Instead, she asked, “What about others?”

“Other what? Family? Mm, the Grimm are like brothers. And I suppose I had sisters.”

“Suppose?”

Cinder’s face warned they’d tread into uncomfortable territory again, but she didn’t shy from it as much as before. Resting her chin on her knee, she said, “I wasn’t my mother’s first daughter. Only the first to survive. I get the feeling most died before they were born. Most, but not all. I know a few names, and occasionally there were headstones we would stop at in our travels. I didn’t realize what they were then, but… They were small. I think I’m the first of her daughters to make it past infancy.

“Grimm—even Grimm like her—just aren’t meant to have children, I guess.”

If not for the fact that she was looking at her, Glynda might have been fooled by the way Cinder steeled her voice against wavering emotion. She would have missed the smolderings of guilt across Cinder’s expression.

Unsure how to respond to such a display, Glynda merely stared, pensive.

Finally, Cinder could take the silence no more, lifting her hand to run her fingers through her hair. She let out a sharp exhale, tucking her face into her knee, and said, “I don’t know how I could even face her…”

Glynda’s cuffed hand found hers, their pinkies touching. “Do you regret saving me?”

Cinder didn’t lift her head. “No. Not most of the time. But I wish you weren’t the Witch.”

“So you could turn her over? And still…?”

“So I could have both. I could be the liberator my mother needed me to be and still… I know what you’re thinking: that’s selfish. I can’t have both.”

Glynda pursed her lips, looking out over Mountain Glenn.

At the edges of the city on steep cliffs, Grimm picked their way along beaten paths, never venturing into the streets below. They stuck to their own, a semblance of familiarity and comfort in how they moved together in packs—almost familial, if such a thing could ever be said about Grimm.

Though Glynda’s own heritage was barely worth mentioning, she found more and more that she owed a deep allegiance to the soul which hollowed her chest, a deep kinship linking her to people she’d never seen or met. If she had to guess, she supposed that her instinctive loyalty to the legacy of those Witches who had come before was the closest thing to what Cinder felt towards her mother—and other Grimm.

A memory tingled at the base of her skull. Slowly, she said, “I don’t think that’s selfish. I think that’s human.”

That made Cinder look up, scoffing and drawing Glynda’s gaze back. “What, are _you_ the human expert now?”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, and Glynda realized she was trying to lighten the mood. Breathing a laugh, Glynda said, “Out of the two of us, I would be most qualified, no?”

Cinder’s expression changed, baring her teeth in a sneer that was decidedly animal in nature, and Glynda didn’t know if she was exaggerating the look on purpose or not.

“Yeah, see, are these fangs?” Glynda reached over, grabbing under Cinder’s chin with her unshackled hand. Her fingers pressed against Cinder’s cheeks, prying her jaw open to reveal her teeth. “Grimm fangs.”

She expected Cinder to slap her hand away immediately and return some quip to continue the game. In fact, Cinder did straighten slightly, the way she did when preparing a scathing comeback, but she didn’t move to undo Glynda’s hold. Their eye contact lasted for a while longer than Glynda would have thought comfortable, and her mouth felt dry. The silence only seemed to confirm the worst: that Cinder was going through a similar stall, her words dying before she could speak them.

Glynda cleared her throat and let go. “Too much?”

“They _are_ sharp,” Cinder said, replying to a different question, her thoughts clearly elsewhere entirely. “You can—you can look if you want.”

Glynda shifted so that she was fully facing Cinder, unable to deny the curiosity that burned at her fingertips. Slowly, experimentally, in a way she had never reached for Cinder in the past, she lifted both hands to her face. The hand that was chained to her own followed, tied to the short boundary of the cuffs, and Cinder let it awkwardly hang, dead weight on Glynda’s wrist.

In their battles, she had lashed out at Cinder many times, and since then she had been rough when she even touched her at all. It was unfamiliar to her, then, when she put her hands on Cinder’s cheeks, cupping her face with a gentleness that belied the harm she could inflict, the great calamity she held at her fingertips.

One of her thumbs fit perfectly into the dip between Cinder’s chin and bottom lip, easily coaxing her mouth open.

For all their time spent together, it felt like Glynda had never truly noticed the razor edges that filled Cinder’s mouth. Jagged, uneven, and definitely more animal than human, her teeth were an intimidating sight. They were arranged—as far as Glynda could tell—in the same number and order as human teeth, but each had a noticeably inhuman edge. Carnivore’s teeth, for slicing apart raw meat, and in a brief flash, Glynda’s reluctant brain remembered being lifted high in the air, her arm jammed between huge teeth shaped just like these ones.

Glynda’s thumb pressed against a canine, as if she couldn’t believe the points she saw, and Cinder gave a low growl in the back of her throat. Glynda let her go.

“They’re sharp,” Cinder said again, this time as a warning. “You already pricked one thumb earlier. Let’s not make it a habit.”

It hadn’t even occurred to her, though she’d probably been only seconds from doing just that. “Right.”

Her face felt hot, but Glynda couldn’t hope to pinpoint which of the many embarrassing events of the day was causing it. She reached out, putting her hands on Cinder’s cheeks again.

“Are they weird?” Cinder asked, as though _that_ was something she had ever been concerned about in the past.

“Yeah, they’re weird,” Glynda said, glancing up to make eye contact before her gaze settled back on Cinder’s mouth. Cinder, who undoubtedly noticed the way her focus shifted from teeth to lips, did nothing to pull her attention back. Her eyes seemed to mirror the up-and-down of Glynda’s gaze, but she remained silent, as if expecting Glynda to say more.

Though the long silence had all but confirmed they were both thinking the same thing, the kiss Glynda pressed to the corner of her mouth was hesitant, imbued with insecurity and vulnerability.

Quickly, she leaned back, and added: “I like them. They’re very…you.”

Cinder’s expression flashed hunger, but her raised eyebrow and unimpressed look managed to prevail through the red tint her cheeks took. “ _My teeth_ . Are very _me_ , Glynda?”

“You know what I mean,” Glynda shot back, equal parts defensive and playful. “When have I ever been a smooth talker?”

Tentatively, as if touching her would harm them both, Cinder’s cuffed hand covered hers. Cinder’s smaller hand felt perfectly natural curved around Glynda’s, as if sculpted from the beginning with this in mind, and Glynda turned her hand away from Cinder’s cheek to press their palms together. It lasted only a moment before Cinder closed her fingers, fitting perfectly in the spaces of Glynda’s, giving a firm squeeze.

“Never,” Cinder said. “You’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

Glynda snorted. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, sorry. A disaster already in motion.”

She noticed Cinder’s eyes falling onto their entwined fingers, but failed to categorize the emotion on her face. It felt tactless to ask, and even Cinder’s snarky retort was allowed to stand unchallenged, a victory neither of them paid any mind to.

Cinder looked up, her free hand tucking smooth black hair behind her ear, and something new had appeared in her eyes. Glynda could vaguely recognize it as _want_ , though Cinder usually hid this particular feeling behind her impenetrable poker face. It was refreshing to see it finally clear.

For once, she read Cinder like an open book; every second she stalled was a new paragraph, and every cautious glance betrayed her. She made note of everything, as Cinder leaned over her lap, allowing Glynda every chance to refuse her. She didn’t.

For a brief moment, it seemed the idea of actually getting what she wanted petrified Cinder, and it looked as though she might shut Glynda out again and retreat into herself. Glynda met her at the finish line before she could, pressing their lips together with a slight smile. It was comforting, though not unexpected, when Cinder leaned into it, regaining courage.

It was warm and soft, untouched by the cutting edge which accompanied all of Cinder’s gestures. The emotional turmoil of their kiss at the mines had blanked most physical memory, but Glynda knew it hadn’t been anything like this. It wasn’t a need for air that pulled the kiss apart; it was a need for validation, giving Glynda yet another chance to run away, but she gave chase and kissed her again.

Both without Aura, completely defenseless, there was some solace in love, exposing the most vulnerable emotions and finding comfort in seeing them reflected back in someone else. Cinder’s hands were gentle, finding the outlines of her neck, her jawline, her cheeks and eyebrows. She could only hope her own hands were even half as light.

Beyond Cinder’s hairline, she found four small protrusions—she remembered them, too, vaguely. The way Cinder tensed at the touch was familiar, too, but Glynda didn’t say anything, their foreheads together, her fingers still pressed against the vestiges of Grimm’s horns.

Perhaps the fact that she didn’t say anything at all was the biggest blessing Cinder could have asked for. Even without Aura, the kiss she gave Glynda filled her to the brim with warmth.

Finally, Cinder leaned back, looking flustered but pleased. Glynda cleared her throat.

“That was, um,” Glynda started, finding it difficult to use words now. “Nice.”

Cinder leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Glynda’s mouth, and her breath was still hot on Glynda’s lips when she said, “It would have been a better end to our date, don’t you think?”

Glynda’s free hand found the small of her back, enjoying the heat of her presence. “Is this all you had planned?”

“No Aura suppressants.” A click of her tongue. “But I don’t have much interest in anything beyond this, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Oh.

Cinder seemed to watch Glynda for signs of surprise or confusion, but instead of trying to find more words, she leaned forward, returning the swift kiss Cinder had given her earlier.  A pleased hum rose in Cinder’s throat as they parted.

All but sitting in Glynda’s lap now, there wasn’t much space between them even as Cinder’s eyes flickered over all of Glynda, taking her in like she could finally see her clearly. Rather than grow self-conscious beneath those eyes, Glynda found herself doing the same to Cinder, their hands still intertwined.

In the strange green light of the cavern, her eyes took on an ethereal hue, beautiful gold in the coldness of Mountain Glenn’s tomb. She saw the way Cinder’s mouth seemed always on the verge of a smile or a snarl, corners twitching at the slightest idea, and wondered how she could have missed it before.

Her eyes fell on Cinder’s throat, where the collar of her turtleneck easily concealed the red markings Glynda had seen barely peek out underneath the old choker. Slowly, she hooked a finger around Cinder’s collar, pulling the fabric down and baring her neck. At her touch, Cinder leaned her head back, allowing access though her eyes burned with curiosity.

Identical to a Grimm’s markings, the red line and circle resembled an eye drawn in blood, and Glynda swiped her thumb across it as if it would smudge. She could see the pulse beating under the skin, and the exposed column of Cinder’s throat was an unfamiliar sight—it almost felt wrong, seeing a hunter like Cinder displaying her weakest points right under Glynda’s hands.

If it had been even a month ago, the urge to take Cinder’s life might have been overwhelming at the sight, but the fight was gone from both their veins. It was a somber realization, forcing her to become acutely aware of her own change of heart, and Glynda wondered how long it had been in the works. How long ago had she stopped considering Cinder mere prey—how long had parts of their traitorous hearts been softening?

“My mother gave these to me.” When Cinder spoke, the flesh under Glynda’s light touch vibrated. “I was too weak to survive as I was... I had a soul, but it was weak, a dying candle next to the inferno she expected. Her will is imbued in each marking, and I survived thanks to them. In doing so, she most likely affected my Semblance, my Aura—she shaped everything I am, from the moment I was born, solely to ensure I would live.”

Glynda nodded thoughtfully, rolling Cinder’s collar back up. She didn’t really know how to respond. She didn’t know if Cinder expected her to respond at all. When Glynda looked up from her neck, Cinder’s distant expression confirmed it, her thoughts far beyond where Glynda could follow.

She didn’t attempt to follow them, knowing full well that Cinder wouldn’t let her, instead urging her closer with the hand at the small of her back. Caught off guard, it took Cinder a moment to comply, leaning into Glynda’s chest with a soft exhale.

Glynda didn’t miss the way her body relaxed, even if she couldn't see her face.“You’re cold, aren’t you?” she said, almost accusatory.

She got a pleased hum in response. “I _was_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit.... what a chapter...................... tunes for [That Gay Shit(TM)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=orJJniWRpRQ)


	18. Chapter 18

“You’ve still got no signal?”

Glynda glanced up from her scroll to where Cinder stood only a foot away, her eyes turned out over the city, examining the sheer walls which rose around them and the desolate ruins set before them. 

She clicked the sleep button and pocketed her scroll. “No. We’re still too deep.”

That was the sole reason she’d bid them rise so soon, not even a full hour elapsing before the itch to know what was happening at Beacon consumed her. By her own estimations, they’d have to be much closer to the surface to get any signal, and waiting down here while Ozpin was still drawing the dragon’s attention… 

Glynda shivered and told herself it was the chill in the air, not the endless possibilities. 

Her hand found Cinder’s, the chain of the cuffs going slack, and Cinder glanced back over her shoulder, questioning without saying a word. Glynda shook her head. Cinder’s hand was warm, and that was enough for now. 

“I want to get out of here as quickly as possible,” Cinder said, allowing Glynda her silence on the matter. “If we try to back-track up onto the walls, we could avoid the city, but we’d have to deal with the Grimm, and it’s going to take a long time.”

“The city would be quicker...” Glynda agreed, gazing out over the streets. 

“But?”

Glynda’s eyes fell on the vine climbing atop the balcony’s short railing, the thorns black and sharp. The sense of unease about them hadn’t left, and the idea of going deeper toward their source set her teeth on edge. 

Following her gaze, Cinder pressed her lips to a line. “Yeah.”

She was probably just as disturbed, if only because her own mother refused to set foot in this place. According to Ozpin, even Vivienne, who’d sought out the machine, hadn’t tread here. 

“We’ll be careful,” Glynda said, pulling her away from the view and toward the building’s stairs. The key to the suppressants pressed against her thigh through the fabric of her pants. “I mean, we’ve dealt with worse, right?”

Cinder allowed herself to be led and made a sound of muted agreement. 

After all, Cinder’s mother was, by Cinder’s own admission and what Glynda had seen of her barrage against Corinth, more than capable of leveling cities. These vines might have overtaken this one, but in their end, they were nothing compared to a dragon.

Glynda wondered for the briefest moment: if Vivienne had fought Cinder’s mother instead of running, could she have won? Witches were immensely powerful—she herself was proof—but were they any match for Cinder’s mother? 

She tried not to think about it.

Returning to street level, they paused only for a moment before setting off toward the city’s center—and the place where the vines grew thickest. 

As they moved, Glynda found that the scale of Mountain Glenn had been severely underestimated by the experts. The farther they walked, the more the buildings seemed to close in around them, the eerie green glow of the cavern’s roof seeming farther away as the buildings rose higher. Considering the city was completely subterranean and the technology available in that age, the level of expansion was frankly astounding.

Within the first hour, Glynda realized how easy it would be to get lost—if it weren’t for the fact that the city’s layout seemed to be urging them toward one focal landmark.

Glynda’s fingers twitched, her body held taut and ready, their footsteps echoing. Leaning closer to Cinder, she whispered, “You can’t sense anything?” 

Speaking felt sacrosanct here, but the silence was driving Glynda insane, her eyes darting from alleyway to alleyway. Everything here was long dead, but there was a particular sensation of life that built as they ventured deeper.

Cinder shook her head but didn’t tear her eyes away from the street before them. The thought of speaking seemed to stick in her throat, and it took her a moment to conquer her hesitation. “...My senses aren’t very keen to begin with… I can feel you vaguely. But it’s only clear when you’re…”

Golden eyes darted toward her before retreating. 

“... When your soul is  _ more active _ .”

Tiptoeing. Glynda thought for a moment, then remembered—with some difficulty—the way Cinder had seemed to know just where she was when she had tracked her to the edge of the wastes, completely entrenched in her own soul.

“Grimm don’t really register for me.” Cinder pursed her lips. “What about you?”

“I’m not sure,” Glynda admitted. 

There was a film on her tongue, something in the air not quite right. Like there had been something here before, but now the traces of it were too old to suss out. It’s nature was a mystery, but Glynda had a feeling it was more Grimm than Witch. 

Explaining the feeling… “There’s… Something.”

Cinder clicked her tongue. “Very helpful.”

Glynda shot her a look. “I don’t see you contributing.”

“If I had a soul capable of everything yours is, I assure you I would be.”

A flicker of pride rose in Glynda’s chest unbidden, surprised to hear such open words of praise from Cinder. At least, she  _ thought _ it was praise. The last time Cinder had said something similar, they’d been on their way to Corinth together and she had just told her Bacia’s story.

Cinder seemed to notice her train of thought in her expression. “Glynda, do not—”

“You said you knew other stories about Witches. Other than Bacia’s.”

A deep sigh, but one that didn’t sound like a refusal.  “I know  _ some _ stories, but most of them are basically so intertwined with myth, I couldn’t say how much is actually true.”

Glynda wasn’t dissuaded. 

“My mother told me stories when I was younger… Mostly about when Witches were still prevalent among humans. I don’t know names, but there are dozens of stories about Witches working together to stop natural disasters, end entire wars, even split the sea. They were storybook heroes… I mean, I already told you about the legend of the Witch who lit up the night sky with her soul… It’s all stuff like that.

“The thing I  _ do _ know is they were the ones who began hunter academies as a way to teach humans to defend themselves. I suppose it’s not a surprise you yourself ended up as a teacher…”

Glynda remembered Ozpin’s words, the way he’d told her with such certainty that she was protecting humanity’s future, just like other Witches had before her. This time, pride swelled within her. 

“Witches rarely lived among humans aside from their academies, so when they appeared, often it was an augur of something bad to come, but… They were humanity’s protectors, and with so many of them, they could do almost anything.” 

The city was growing darker around them as the buildings towered higher, blotting out the artificial light. Even the city itself seemed to blacken, the stone and brick beneath the vines scorched. If Glynda hadn’t been entirely focused on Cinder, she might have noticed they seemed to be approaching the city’s central point.

Soot and debris covered the ground where the vines didn’t cover. “Almost?”

“Well…” Cinder looked uncomfortable, her lips thinning. “They all died eventually, didn’t they? Even Witches don’t live forever...”

Cinder stopped in her tracks, and it was only then that Glynda looked up, noticing the street they were on opened up before them. Her eyes widened.

Before them, the city fell away. Buildings toppled on each other like dominos, their steel skeletons exposed, piles of rubble growing to mountainous proportions where the rest had fallen away. Everything tilted in one direction, and here, the ground was completely black, a layer of ash covering everything. 

Like a blast zone, everything at the center had been leveled—everything, save a single building, its exterior completely entangled with vines. A faint light exuded from between the overlapping vines.

Cinder’s hand squeezed Glynda’s. 

“Glynda—”

“Come here.” 

Glynda didn’t take her eyes away from the building at the center of this destruction, untouched by the calamity which befell everything around it. The key to the suppressants was in her hand, but Cinder caught her by the wrist before she could release her. 

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” 

This was it. Glynda could tell the source of the vines laid before them, the wild overgrowth black and massive, all reaching out from this one point. She still didn’t know the nature or effect of the strange vines, but she did know that she didn’t want to be so near their center without protection.

“It’s fine. I trust you.”

The words were quick, but Cinder’s resistance became nothing in their wake, her searching stare broadcasting every doubt. Glynda pulled her chained hand up and found the notch which would unlatch her shackle at the touch of the key.

Quietly, Cinder asked, “Are you sure?”

Glynda pressed the key to her cuff. “Yeah.”

The reaction was immediate, heat flaring like a long withheld inferno suddenly returning to life. Cinder’s eyes seemed to gleam with more power, a wildfire brewing just beneath her skin, imbuing her with a healthy glow she seemed to lack without her Aura. 

Beneath her coat, her mother’s markings simmered, the dust in her clothes warming with their stirring. 

But as instantaneous as the effect on Cinder was, the effect on the vines was much more profound. 

Like the tolling of a great bell, a reverberating pulse echoed through the air, all of the vines seeming to breathe Cinder’s Aura in, expanding ever so slightly and then exhaling, an unnatural hue of light emanating from all of them. At the center, the building grew brighter, as if Cinder’s Aura had stoked something, encouraging life from the embers. 

Alarm raced through Glynda’s veins, and she didn’t drop Cinder’s hand even if they weren’t shackled to each other anymore. They needed to go, needed to escape as fast as possible before whatever was brewing fully revived—

“Glynda.” Cinder stood rooted to the spot even as Glynda shied from the vines, which seemed more alive than ever. “Wait. I  _ feel _ something.”

“That’s not very helpful, Cinder,” Glynda returned, her instincts screaming that now was not the time to linger. At her feet, the growths seemed to creep toward them in increments. “We need to go. Come on—”

The city seemed to shift around them, buildings groaning as if the tendrils had all tightened their hold, contracting in on their source. 

“Glynda, it’s—” 

Cinder’s eyes were closed, a deep knit of concentration in her brow. From the outskirts of the city, the sound of hundreds of Creeps howling at once cut through Glynda like an icy wind. 

Cinder barely noticed. “It—it feels like a Witch. It’s small and it feels - something’s wrong, but… It’s responding.”

In confirmation, the vines pulsed again, like a ragged breath taken after years underwater. At Cinder’s heels, they seemed to pull together, ignoring Glynda entirely.

“Yes, well—” Glynda felt far from reassured that they were responding to anything, but the word  _ Witch _ stuck in her mind. “This—This doesn’t seem like a  _ good  _ reaction, does it?”

Her teaching lessons flashed through her mind:  _ if you think you’ve come across something you can’t beat, the best thing to do is to escape _ . And for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel capable of defending herself, a lack of Aura tempering her curiosity.

The building brightened just a bit, a sliver of light breaking through the vines and growing wider as they parted, and it drew Cinder’s rapt attention like a beacon. 

“It’s responding to  _ me _ .” 

Glynda couldn’t see how that was much of a relief, but Cinder strode forward as if meeting an old friend, eyes locked on the building, a familiar, warm glow rising to her flesh. “It feels… It feels…”

The vines surged, a thousand serpents rising in a wave to engulf Cinder. Her skin lost its gentle adoration as her face went stricken, but then all Glynda could see was a tangle of thorny growths, curling tighter around Cinder’s body despite the flares of heat and light from within. 

“Cinder!”

Glynda rushed forward, ignoring the danger as she threw herself at the vines, more gathering by her feet. Her hands bled as she pounded against the vines, but they only writhed, constricting down until Glynda was sure—

The signs of resistance were already beginning to die, smoke rising from the mass without the telltale inferno of Cinder’s Aura. 

“Cinder!”

Her Aura shackled, Glynda had no power to tear the vines away from Cinder, and so they didn’t even notice her. The Creeps howled again as more vines entangled around the first, lashing Glynda by coincidence of her proximity. 

She found herself being drawn toward the mass, pressed against it until the spikes drove into her flesh. Her heart hammered away in her chest, but by the time she remembered the key, her arms were already pinned by the vines entangling around her. Glynda thrashed, each movement earning her another gash, but the vines only constricted tighter, and the ethereal green light from above began to fade, blocked out by the vines. 

Glynda gasped for air, her movements slowing, and then succumbed to the darkness as the vines covered her completely.

*

You didn't.

You never.

You never wanted this. 

Centuries. You were a hurricane, a tempest, a great tidal wave pulled and twisted and fit to form with sinew and blood, the edges all ragged and threatening to burst at the seams. You cut your teeth on nightmares, bent the laws of man, and held all the infinite possibility of the stars, a great divide carved into your words, your touch, your being.

You were indomitable. You were endless. You were never whole. 

You died.

You gave her everything. You failed her. 

Lamia, Lamia, Lamia. 

The name coiled around the two of you like a serpent, it's fangs black and sharp, it's body squeezing tighter with every exhale.

_ Lamia _ . 

You never doubted her. She called you the moon, but she charted the stars, understanding the celestial bodies you took for granted. She picked apart stardust and pulled meteors from orbit, her eyes straining to take in the light when they knew only the darkness of the subterranean. 

_ Ilkay, my moon. _

_ Salem, my love. _

You should have done more. It had to be you. She needed you like she needed the secrets held at the center of every black hole. You bent the laws of man, but she reinvented them, expanding, growing, spearheading the cause that would free humanity from the shackles of its fear. 

Lamia. 

She wanted nightmares, wanted to open them up and weigh their components: a pair of bone-white horns, four sets of curving claws, a mouthful of teeth like knives, and Lamia.

It flowed through them in place of blood: the furious, desperate struggle to heal and mend and live even without Aura. 

The very existence of Lamia in their bodies proved it: Grimm wanted to  _ live _ . 

And so did she. 

Your work was an affront to everything you knew, to the legacy sunk deep in your marrow, burning at the very core of you. The cosmos contained within you strained for the kill, but you held back for her, only ever for her—

You never said no to her. You never could. 

Even the sight of the moon hanging whole and luminescent over the land was nothing compared to the sweet elysium of her embrace. You left behind the open sky for the dank and dark. You rooted for fungus in the deepest part of the earth, wrestling screaming creatures into submission with only your strength, and for her, you brought them back— _ alive _ . 

They died. Over and over and over again they died. No matter what she did to keep them alive, picking them apart so carefully, so gently. Like peeling an onion, one paper-thin layer at a time, hunting for the center.

_ It wasn’t enough _ , she said.  _ Lamia was just out of reach _ . 

_ Lamia _ . 

She was small. She was weak. She needed Lamia if she was going to survive. 

Her hair was bone white, dark rings beneath her eyes, the weight of every day pulling her downward, irresistible as gravity. You knew it was only a matter of time before it pulled her into her grave, and then—and then—

And then you would be alone. 

You gave her anything. You dragged monsters from the pitch black bowels of Remnant, their claws scoring lines across your flesh, nicking your ears, catching on the black fur of your tail. You gave her anything. When one type seemed not to work, you found another, seeking and hunting and honing your senses until it was possible to tell them apart by the way they felt. You gave her  _ anything _ . You brought back Beowolves twice your size and strapped them down to her table while she harried you over you wounds. 

It wasn’t enough. 

She could barely walk without you by her side, and you couldn’t be at her side and chasing ghouls at once. 

_ One more time _ , she said, muffling her rattling cough into her fist. Even the lines of black drawn along her forearms grew paler, a sickly grey to match the pallor of her shrinking body. 

You left her alone for the last time, you swore it would be the last time, and hunted the beast that would heal her. The specimen was one you caught above ground, a Beowolf with thick limbs and shaggy fur, and you thought it was a good size. A good sign. A good chance. 

For Lamia. 

You found her on the floor. 

The Beowolf snarled and snapped at your rigidity, and your claws raked across its bone plate, gouging deep, carving lines sure to keep. You didn’t have time to strap it to the table, merely brought it with you as you fell to your knees beside her, an arm around its throat, a hand at her shoulder. 

She was cold. 

_ Salem _ —

The rise of her chest meant everything to you.

_ One more time. Ilkay, one more time. _

She was small. She was weak. She needed Lamia if she was going to survive. 

Without Lamia, she was dead. 

_ Anything for you, my love. _

You never could say no to her.

Putting your hands on both of them, you reached for the universe beneath your skin. You were a hurricane, a tempest, a great tidal wave pulled and twisted and fit to form with sinew and blood, the edges all ragged and bursting at the seams. You pulled apart star systems, sundered space and time, and felt the heat of a thousand supernovas all at once, and you gave

her 

_ everything _ .

It was enough. It was too much.

The great rift in you became a chasm, and all the components of a nightmare became her: a pair of bone-white horns, tall and sloping and raised to the air like blades; four sets of curving claws, her hands and feet blackened like death itself had touched them; a mouthful of teeth like knives, bared by snarling red lips, and  _ Lamia _ .

Lamia. Lamia, Lamia, Lamia—

_ Salem, my love _ —

It filled her until she was anything but small, body growing thick and firm, hair singed black from root to end. Until she was anything but weak, steam curling from her flesh and turning the laboratory into a crematorium. Until she was anything but dead.

The Beowolf strained against you, but you watched her awaken, slate grey eyes imbued with the golden brilliance of stars.

She was a mistake. She was a nightmare. She was death.

She was  _ your _ death. 

You could never fight her. 

Tears collected in her eyes as she stood over your dying body, all the offal carved out of you and left with her. You opened your mouth and blood came out, the Beowolf digging its claws into your thigh. She opened her mouth and—

You died. 

*

You weren’t you. 

You were fire and death, supernovas exploding in your veins, a hundred-thousand thoughts racing, swirling faster and faster, no epicenter to draw upon, sorrow and grief and confusion and 

_ anger _

mixing and melding and running molten together, too many to separate, too many to contain, your head threatening to split with memories: the dank, the dark, the lonesome nights, other wolves pressed to your side, no chance for respite, no chance for salvation—

Ilkay. Your moon. 

Dead beneath your feet. 

Your brother, still hunched over the body, blank eyes meeting yours with subservience. You were more like him than he was like you. The blood in his mouth was copper in yours. The same ichor that scorched the inside of his veins was in you, erasing everything you had, and you felt strong.

Who were you now? This was not who you  _ were _ —

_ Who were you before?  _

You remembered it, but you didn’t. You remembered Ilkay, your Witch, your moon in the murky subterranean. You remembered this room, your work, and through your brother’s mind you remembered a body, pale and still and—

You knew and felt everything, all at once: memories ran hot with grief, with fear, with wrath, all of them violent, fighting for superiority. 

_ Lamia _ . That was what— _ who _ you had become. The name coiled around you like a serpent, the venom in its fangs already deep inside of you, and you took it as your own. You were Lamia incarnate, black tar instead of blood, struggling to heal and mend and live even without Aura.

The surge through your veins was proof: you wanted to  _ live _ .

Warm tears on your face reminded you: she had always been the stronger one. She had protected you for years. Without her, you would be alone. 

It seemed unreal that she could die at all, and yet you killed her without hesitation.

The spatters of her blood on your flesh felt like burning acid. Your brother, caught in the storm inside you, cried too—a whimper became a howl, and before you knew it you screamed with him. 

This was a mass grave. You could smell old blood in the walls, akin to the smouldering remains of a doused fire. Many had died here, too many to count. The wreckage around you was all stained with death—with Lamia. Even you had added to the stench, coating the room in your Witch’s blood. 

This was a graveyard, and the pressure it exerted was palpable, raking across your skin like the claws of your fallen brethren. 

Escape was easy, bursting free of the laboratory’s confines with your brother at your heel. A city. You knew this city. It didn’t matter anymore. You were someone else now. You were Lamia.

Tearing yourself from the confines of the underground would be easy. The strength pumping through your body reassured you. The surging tides of sorrow and fear quelled, but the storm raged on, a furious tempest your skin could barely contain, hatred sharpening your claws until it resembled a sickness, curdling in your stomach and bunching in your limbs.

You let your brother’s instincts consume you. He was a simpler mind. More primal. A mind that had not changed even as the Grimm containing it did. His template had existed for centuries, honed to only the bare necessities. You searched, letting his mind flow into yours, and you recognized those instincts.

He was built solely for the kill, a predator through and through. 

So were you.

Fire. The world was changing before your eyes as you grew, taking on a new form. Your brother howled again, but it was the sound of an excited predator, removed from the grief which didn’t suit his kind.

You built an inferno, extending your wings over the city, and roared with him.

Knees hit the floor.

Cinder burst free of the vines, every intake of air heavy and raw—not from suffocation, no, she had been breathing freely even within the vines’ grasp; these were the painful gasps between sobs.

Trying to make sense of what had happened was a futile effort, and yet she fully understood what she had witnessed—been a part of—seen— _ done— _

Kneeling on cracked tile flooring, Cinder saw the vines fall limply behind her, used up, a note of foreign disappointment sticking to the roof of her mouth through the fading sensation of her mother’s mind. Her vision blurred with her tears, and she wiped at her eyes with her hand, almost angrily, but dread immediately seized her when she saw the vines part from— _ Glynda _ . 

On the floor like a discarded toy, crumpled against the thickest mass of vines, the sight of her was near identical to the Witch in the vision—the memory?—and Cinder’s heart plummeted. Her elbows trembled and felt weak, but she forced them to carry her, crawling on her hands and knees as panic drowned her brain. 

Blood marked Glynda’s skin in fine lines. Her clothes were torn, her glasses tossed carelessly aside, and every part of her that Cinder could see was bloodied. She didn’t move.

Cinder’s voice sounded broken even to herself, every sob a cry for mercy. She covered her face, unable to look any longer, as if she could make it all go away just by hiding. Inside of her, an ugly shadow blackened her thoughts: she was Grimm, and she killed Witches, and that was how it had always been, even before her mother tore apart her own Witch.  

Glynda swore, her voice like the sharp crack of a whip, startling Cinder out of her hands. Glynda was still on her side, one arm braced against the floor as if she was planning on getting up, but instead she swore again and spat blood until the weight of Cinder’s attention pulled her gaze.

When they made eye contact, the fear in Glynda’s expression was unmistakable through the tears collecting at her lashes, and a barb drove itself deep through Cinder’s guts, skewering the initial rush of relief. 

“You saw it too.” She had meant to say something more comforting, but the words tumbled out before she could. 

Cinder had felt—had been—her mother, whetting her claws on the flesh of the Witch, her head threatening to explode from the tumultuous emotions swirling within. But if she had been her mother, had Glynda been—

The panic drained from Glynda’s eyes slowly, but she covered her mouth, tears falling to catch on her fingers, and sucked in a shaky breath. Glynda was pressing an arm to her own abdomen as her eyes searched the room, as if she was ensuring her organs stayed where they belonged. She winced at every move she made, covered in scratches from the thorns that had swallowed them.  The blood on her face smeared at her touch, stare vacant.

Cinder unwillingly remembered the gruesome scene before her mother’s feet, the Witch carved open, far from the help of her broken soul.

“I thought—Ilkay thought you were…” 

Mother’s markings flared on Cinder’s flesh, the memory of the echo of unmistakable hope she felt the moment her Aura was unleashed. 

Her heart sunk, the lingering disappointment left by the vines bitter upon her tongue. 

“What  _ was  _ that?” Glynda asked, as if Cinder should know, forgetting yet again that this was the one place her mother had forbidden. Her mother’s aversion made sense now, at the very least, though the new knowledge did little to soothe her.

She had been her mother, and she had killed the Witch, and she had felt so powerful. And  _ Glynda— _

“It wasn’t real,” she said, as if it would make either of them feel better. “We’re—we’re alive, we’re—”

“We’re in the lab,” Glynda observed, and Cinder was grateful to be cut off from her babbling. “This is where it happened.”

Looking around for the first time, Cinder realized Glynda was right. It was a mess of broken furniture and mangled metal, but it was where she had stood in her mother’s skin. The vines originated where Glynda had fallen, a tight ball of thorns and pain where the Witch had died.

Ilkay’s death had been gruesome, Mother’s rage and despair limitless, but still, even after centuries, Cinder’s appearance had startled Ilkay’s long-dead regrets into life.  _ She thought I was my mother.  _

Yet Cinder had emerged uninjured, the thorns avoiding her flesh as if commanded—

Cinder felt nauseous as she got to her feet. She looked away from the room and back at Glynda, trying to block the memories from her mind. “Are you okay?” 

“It stings,” Glynda said, flexing her hand, her voice coming steadier than it should have. Compared to Cinder, she was a mess. Her arms were torn up worse than any other part of her. The shallow scratches and cuts wouldn’t kill her, but without her Aura, they would linger. “I bit my tongue, too. But I’ll be alright.”

Of course, that wasn’t what Cinder had meant, but she decided to leave it alone. She said, “You should—you should use Aura.”

Glynda’s jaw was tight, and she winced again when she took Cinder’s hand and let her help her up, a noticeable blankness to her expression. Even without Aura, her soul... “I would like to, but I can’t. You know that.”

The voice of reason didn’t belong in a place like this, and Cinder still felt stark upheaval, like any prompting could invoke another flood of warring emotions. “I know. I just don’t like to see you hurt—I...I thought I had really done it. Killed you.”

There was a moment of silence at this piece of honesty, just long enough to make Cinder regret saying it. Then, Glynda’s hand gave hers a squeeze. 

“We’re okay, Cinder. Let’s just go,” she said, and Cinder felt an unnatural stab of envy for Glynda’s ability to force her emotions in line. Already, Glynda was calm, her fear and discomfort smothered down while Cinder’s free hand kept trembling uncontrollably. 

Her mother’s markings, imbued with everything she was, imbued with  _ Lamia _ , still burned hotly, finding strange resonance with the echo of the Witch. If she didn't know better, the pulsing flares would make her feel as though Mother herself was present, like another person painted onto her own skin. To the grasping touch of a blind spirit, they were one and the same.

Around them, the vines were still and unresponsive. They were folded aside, allowing free passage through the building and back out into the open cavern. 

Ilkay, the Witch of Mountain Glenn, had given everything she had left, but to the wrong people.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all thank KIBITZER for making this shit happen cause they dragged us to the finish line and are totally the reason chapter 19 is what it is #bless

Grimm were waiting for them when they emerged.

The sight of them as Cinder carefully led the way out of the laboratory was less surprisingly than it was disconcerting, their yellow eyes tracking her every move, each fidgeting and shifting among the hoard gathered. Now that Ilkay’s vines seemed little more than common plants, the Grimm had no hesitations about treading over them, trampling the growths into the burned pavement at their feet.

They too must have felt it: the markings imbued with her mother’s will, her life, her Lamia.

Cinder’s throat tightened as she held up her arm to block the doorway, and Glynda bumped right into the obstacle as if she hadn’t seen it.

Glancing over her shoulder, it was easy for Cinder to guess she hadn’t, her eyes glazed, stare distant. Even without the telltale echo of her vacuous Aura over Cinder’s flesh, there was no doubting Glynda’s soul had swelled as Ilkay’s lingering sentiments kicked up a maelstrom, trying to swallow the runaway emotions before they could cripple her.

For the first time, Cinder felt a pang of jealousy for the ugly mechanism, sure anything would be better than her rent chest.

“Stay here,” Cinder said, struggling to muster even a fraction of the calm Glynda embodied. “I’m going to make sure…”

They saw her as her mother.

If Glynda noticed how she trailed off, words stuck to her tongue with the memories of what she had just seen, she said nothing to indicate it. Instead, she nodded mutely, regarding the Grimm waiting nearby with only vague interest.

Cinder inhaled sharply. They still needed to get out of here, and now that this crowd had gathered…

She hesitated before stepping out of her shoes and picking her way across the ground, careful not to tread on any vines. More Creeps flocked to the group with every moment, descending into the city and appearing from bypaths and rubble-strewn streets. The Grimm watched her as she approached, agitated and pushing at one another, but they didn’t even recognize Glynda standing behind her, and Cinder knew that was the way it needed to stay.

Unlike the Grimm she knew from above ground, these were equal parts wary and enraptured, the body language unmistakable: uncertainty. As she drew near, a wave passed through the flock, each animal in turn skittering a pace or two away from her. Several low, gravelly voices rose, in warning snarls that clearly conveyed a message: _you’re pushing our limits._

Blind Grimm were always more antsy, but she didn’t feel like she had time for the anxiety-based aggression they were beginning to display, claws scoring lines in the paved ground, pushing each other as if trying to decide who should go after her first.

Cinder stopped with an impatient huff, staring down the half-circle that had formed around her. “Oh, settle down.”

The sound of her voice—frayed as it was—sent another ripple through the crowd, but the effect was noticeable: the shuffling stopped, and several Grimm straightened up a bit, adopting a more open stance.

Among the crowd, a handful of Alphas stood, and the thought stuck in her mind at the sight of them: did they remember when her mother burned her way from Mountain Glenn, took her first flight to escape the subterranean?

Straightening to her full height, Cinder puffed her chest out as if it would make her bigger than any one of them—but she knew from the flares across her skin that the specter of her mother was behind her, twice her size and centuries older. Even the Alphas in the group lowered their eyes briefly, as though ashamed they had even dared doubt her, subservience at last.

Her toes curled, digging into the ash and soot that covered the area. Keeping her movements firm and forcing herself to be patient, Cinder reached out, and the foremost of the Grimm stepped forward.

Its bone-plate was smooth against her palm, and she ran her fingers over its protruding brow, the small nicks and scratches from a lifetime of tunneling. The others grunted toward one another, but the one before her didn’t move, staring at her with rapturous eyes.

Cinder looked away, her hand withdrawing. Without turning to Glynda, she called, “It’s safe. They’ll listen.”

Glynda had always been more brute strength than grace, but her foot falls were heavier than Cinder expected, her appearance at Cinder’s shoulder resembling a shade’s. The blood still coagulating on her skin and clothes was a reminder: she wasn’t healing, not like she should have been.

Once, the sight would have sent a thrill through her bones, her own hands meting out the ruthless blows to bring Glynda to such a state. Once, Glynda would have grown larger with every new injury, her presence swelling with her endless Aura, unaffected no matter how much Cinder battered her defenses. Once, the singular, blazing focus which drove Glynda on had filled Cinder’s dreams.

Now, Glynda seemed half herself, body hollowed out by the thing it lacked, her eyes cold and stony.

Like a noose had tightened around her neck, Cinder felt her breaths grow wane, the memory of Glynda’s fear choking her. It was first time she’d seen terror so clearly on Glynda, her eyes wide, body flinching as though it really had been Cinder who’d cut her open, left her alone, left her to die—

Cinder touched her throat, forcing herself to swallow, but Glynda didn’t even seem to notice, offering Cinder her shoes without a word.

“Thanks,” Cinder murmured.

Among Grimm she’d always found reprieve in the feel of the soil between her toes, the surety with which they saw her as one of their own, but for the first time, there was no comfort in their acceptance. Glynda’s gaze prickled between her shoulder blades, and Cinder wondered if she saw the same towering shadow as the Grimm.

Her mother’s suffering had rooted itself deep in Cinder’s mind, and if Ilkay’s death had done the same with Glynda...

“Come on. We’re leaving.”

Just hours prior, being near Glynda had been easy, comfortable even at a breath’s distance. Now, she was unreachable. They were separate islands, and neither of them seemed capable of crossing the vast gulf that existed between them, the oceans made of silence. Glynda followed her, wordless and expressionless.

The air down in the bowels of Mountain Glenn had never felt so thick, saturated with despair and death, a mausoleum Cinder was eager to be free of. Even Glynda, mute and mechanical, moved a little quicker as the Grimm led them away.

Cinder told herself: the sooner they reached the surface, the better.

The silence was a leaden weight on her shoulders, but what could she possibly say? _Sorry_ felt undeserving and inadequate by the same hand, an apology for a crime she never committed and couldn’t rectify. Yet she’d seen the flash of terror across Glynda’s face right before her soul had consumed it whole, and she knew that—if only for the briefest moment—Glynda had found nothing human in her.  

Years ago, the thought would have filled the empty hole in her chest, validation soothing her heart’s ravenous hunger, reaffirming her place among wolves and nightmares.

Now she couldn’t shake the words at the tip of her tongue: _I’m not her_.

It had been the fear which had haunted her for decades, now writ large into her mind, nausea seeping through her guts now that she’d finally received the recognition she’d always craved. Cinder had imagined it the night she’d arranged for dinner with Glynda, the way Glynda—the _Witch_ , enemy to everything Cinder and her mother were—would puzzle out just what she was. It had consumed her every thought for the hours beforehand, a nervous giddiness at finally revealing the part of her she’d kept hidden for so long.

 _Self-actualization_.

It was going to be her first chance, her only chance, and when it had passed like a flicker of flame on the wind, she had retreated back to her brothers to reassure herself: she was a Grimm first and foremost. Even with file in hand, shaving down the horns that marked her as such, she was a _Grimm_.

Now she knew otherwise.

It was so much easier to convince herself before she’d experienced what it meant to be a Grimm. To wear her mother’s skin felt like donning a suit of armor and being told to swim, an angry sea tossing her beneath the waves every time she managed to surface.

 _A Grimm’s existence is suffering_ , she’d said so long ago, but had she ever truly known? Had she ever truly understood how silly the notion was that she was anything like her mother?

Even now Cinder went barefoot, a testament to the charade imprinted into her very being. A part of her wondered if there had ever been a point to pretending to be an animal, claws scoring the earth, when it would take little more than a misstep and a sharp thorn to reveal her for what she was?

Cinder stared down at the shoes in her hands. Stared at her small hands. Blunt fingernails.

How futile to try convincing herself the red silk dress and whorls of black ink between her shoulder blades were the disguise and not the reflection of her nature. That Grimm wore shoes at all.

She’d shaved down her horns and mastered the hunt in her, leaving behind the dirty hollows of trees and the days spent with nothing on her skin but the sun’s warm rays. And she’d left behind her mother too, decades spent building up her human life while claiming every extravagance in the name of her mission— and all while her mother wept and raged and fought for a moment’s respite against an aching, endless loneliness.

Hati had been her comfort, had shared more than just blood with her, his existence feeding hers, intertwined until neither could be pulled from the other. They saw the world with each other’s eyes, shared emotions and thoughts, and in the darkest and longest of nights, clung to each other through the storm of their existence.

And now even he was gone. Cinder touched her chest with her free hand, eyes firmly on the ground, the still-fresh loss cutting deeper without her stubborn resistance to protect her. Her fingers clutched at the fabric of her coat and she fought back the prick of tears at her eyes, longing to silence her heart.

Still, the thoughts came: had Mother felt it when he died? Had she witnessed it through the innate connection they shared? Had she seen it through his eyes, felt what it was like?

Her mother had sobbed when she’d told Cinder, promising vengeance against all humanity for Hati’s death, for the death of her other half, her eternal companion. And Cinder, her own daughter, had thought only of the human lives that would be lost.

And Cinder, her own daughter, had risked her life to protect the Witch.

If Cinder had been faster, less preoccupied with her cat-and-mouse game with Glynda, more focused on getting in touch with Hati, maybe he would still be alive. If Cinder had valued her mother’s only hope for deliverance more than the Witch’s life, maybe she wouldn’t be utterly alone in the world right now.

If Cinder had been less human, less prone to weaknesses of the heart, she could still call herself Lamia’s daughter.

Maybe she resembled her mother in appearance—more so than Hati had, his animal instinct chasing him, teeth snapping at the flanks of other animals—but her mind was only more distant for it. She was small, weak, soft. Her heart bled for her human children, Emerald and Mercury. It ached for the Witch.

And so Mother was alone. Half Grimm, half human, fused together by the power of a Witch’s soul.

The only one of her kind.

There had never been a creature like her, and if she didn’t fulfill her goals and capture the Witch soul, there never would be another. It would destroy the world, surely; nothing could survive more of her. Mother believed the Grimm deserved to be elevated beyond what they were. She believed she deserved more than being the only one of her kind.

If she weren’t so human, Cinder might have said she still wanted that as well.

Cinder knew her mother loved her. Cinder also knew that wasn’t enough to fill the emptiness in her. The thought of turning her back on her mother was a shard of glass stabbed deep through her heart. And yet…

She knew she could never be enough. She looked down at her feet. At the hand that still held her shoes. Her fingers, strong by human standards, insignificant against her mother’s.

She had lived her life trying so hard to be enough. To be feared, powerful. To bring humanity to its knees and soothe her mother’s ravaged soul. Her mother, who had never shown her anything but honesty and love. Her mother, who had given her so much.

Mother had needed someone within human settlements, someone to gather the means to create the machine. She knew nothing but war, nothing but scorched earth; she couldn’t do it. It had to be Cinder. It had to be a Grimm just human enough. That was what she needed.

What she _had_ was a human girl, closing her eyes to her own humanity, pretending to be Grimm among her brothers. As easy as slipping out of a pair of heels, trading roles like costumes to survive.

Her mother may have failed to raise a Grimm, but she had raised a survivor.

Cinder stopped in her tracks, and Glynda nearly bumped into her back.

Slowly, Cinder bent down and put on her shoes. Quietly, she said, “We’re almost out.”

The Grimm were still following them. Empty, yellow eyes. Animal feet. Claws trampling vines, crushing thorns with their footfalls. The grief that welled up in her when she looked at them was unbelievable, cutting through decades of pretending, and she wanted nothing more than to run. Leave behind black scales and white plates, abandon red trailing marks and smoke and Lamia.

If Glynda had been emotionally present at all, the gaze she held on Cinder might have been questioning, maybe concerned. It was empty.

Cinder rounded on the Grimm, and the marks on her skin flared with the hurricane inside of her. She wasn’t like them. She wasn’t anything like them. She had realized far too late.

Her heels didn’t make her as tall as the specter of her mother, but the Grimm cowered back, a black mass recoiling from her like disturbed water.

She must have shouted, screamed some order to them, but she saw nothing but her mother’s face streaked with tears, heard nothing but her sobs.

The horde of Grimm obeyed. Skittering feet and snarling, frightened voices. They ran. Disappeared back into the city, the eternal tomb, where everything had begun.

Cinder stared after them, hands clenched at her sides, fighting the burning of tears threatening to well up.

“And stay gone,” she said, her voice cracking, to no one in particular.

*

Glynda squinted up at the dawn-brushed sky, hues of pink and purple and gold promising the beginning of a long day. She swallowed and looked away. She heard the sound of loud engines.

She and Cinder were standing at the outskirts of Mountain Glenn, far above the subterranean city, among the ruined buildings from before the citizens moved underground. A cold wind whispered between the buildings, brushing past Glynda’s skin. She thought it felt nice, after being underground for so long.

As soon as they surfaced, she had contacted Winter Schnee. She hadn’t exchanged a single word with Cinder since the laboratory, even since she’d sent away the Grimm. Every time she tried to think of something to say, she drew a blank. When she tried to speak, her vocal chords refused to move, and her jaw locked shut.

So she was silent. Trying not to think about anything. Trying to bury herself in that prized tool, the Witches’ detached void.

It only partially worked.

Fear still chased her blood through her veins. Death lined her lungs. Phantom pain in her guts.

She tried not to think about it.

Winter had positioned herself nearby as promised, and it had only taken a few minutes from Glynda’s message until she started hearing engines approaching. Searching the sky, Glynda spotted the ship: a slim, elegant Atlas ship. The streamlined shapes, swept-back wings and pristine white body promised speed and made bullheads look like clumsy brutes. The windows were sooted black.

Glynda and Cinder watched in silence as the ship smoothly came around to land, gracefully touching down a few yards from the end of the city line. With the tell-tale hiss of hydraulics, the seamless hatch in the ship’s side opened, hinging down to make a ramp into the ship.

Winter Schnee stood in the opening, straight and serious as always, her uniform pressed and spotless. Expectantly, she took a step forward as if to greet them, her hands unclasping from behind her back.

Glynda waited for Cinder to move so she could follow her. It was easier that way.

Cinder didn’t move.

Winter, clearly confused by their pause, tossed her head as if to say _over here_.

Glynda forced her legs to move, and Cinder fell in behind her, the two of them climbing the ramp to stand in front of Winter. There was a long, drawn out moment of pause where Glynda expected Cinder to fill the silence. When she didn’t, Glynda glanced her way.

Only the side of her face was visible, her head turned away, eyes set on something indiscernible in the distance.

“I’m honored to be of service,” Winter offered smoothly, drawing Glynda’s attention once more. She stepped aside as if to usher them within the ship. “Are the two of you…?”

“Yes,” Glynda said, the sound of her own voice surprising her.

She wasn’t sure exactly what she was agreeing to, but it felt like what she was supposed to do in this situation.

In response, steel-blue eyes roved along her bloodied arms, trailing over the small tears in cloak and shirt from the thorns. Winter fixed her with a long, searching look, one Glynda returned without blinking.

“We should get moving.” The sound of Cinder’s voice surprised her even more. Strained. “The sun is rising fast.”

Winter pursed her lips, but said nothing, motioning them to follow her in.

The inside of the ship was as sleek as the exterior; a featureless, rounded hallway led towards the bridge in front and engine room in the back. On the side facing the hatch, Glynda could peer out through the windows, which were clear and see-through from the inside. The other side of the hallway had doors, unlabeled and stark.

Winter noticed her staring. Clearing her throat, she said, “There are cabins and bathrooms if you need them.”

Bathrooms. Showers. Cabins. Beds. None of these felt exactly like what Glynda needed, but there was something about them a part of her seemed desperate for. Without looking away from the doors, she said, “Yes.”

She didn’t wait for them to respond, but made a beeline for the first door she saw, only catching a glimpse of Winter and Cinder as she stopped to open the door. They shared the same expression, one Glynda couldn't put her finger on.

“If you aren’t also going to retire, I could use some direction.”

“I’m fine.”

“We’ll take off immediately then. If you’ll follow me…”

Their voices trailed off as the door shut behind her, the interior surprisingly well outfitted. The bed was small but made with fresh sheets, the floor covered in a pristine white carpeting. In the corner of the room, there was a door which she assumed led to a bathroom, but the moment Glynda was alone, she found the only thing she cared for was the silence.

Her back hit the door, the only sound in the room her own breathing, each inhale growing more ragged than the last. Futilely, she clutched at her own chest, trying to stem her rising pulse, the way her lungs burned as if deprived of all air.

The weaknesses in Glynda’s façade grew into fissures, a great dam on the verge of collapse. Every thought that ran through her head felt overwhelming, and her only defense was to choke them out—and now even that was failing.

What had happened to her that even the Witch void couldn’t save her anymore? Some chink in her flawless armor, holding sweet oblivion just out of arm’s reach. She had held it together, just barely.

As soon as she was alone, it became unbearable. The void had never felt so physically heavy. So conscious. So weak. She forced it in place to protect herself, but it had only partly worked, and now, it couldn’t hold. Like a dam. Like a dam, breaking under the pressure of the emotions she fought to control.

She and Cinder had walked right to the gallows. Ilkay’s memories were a heavy rope around her neck, tightened until she could feel the rough hemp constricting with every inhale.

Glynda hurt. Her arms hurt. Every cut flared with pain, so strange. She’d never cared about pain before. Now she struggled to keep tears from her eyes just looking down on her bloody skin, her hands held out before her, trembling ever so slightly. Shut it down. Block it out.

She locked the door without looking. Sat down on the floor. Still pressed against the door, she pulled her knees up and leaned her forehead on them.

She could feel her mind unraveling. Was this the breaking point? Was this as much as she was made to hold? After forty-six years, was her life finally too heavy, too big for a feeble dam?

No. That couldn’t be it. She was made to do this. She was a Witch.

But she had changed.

Somewhere deep inside, she had changed. She had become reluctant to use her main defense. Her armor was left to rust.

She was paying for it now that she needed it. She needed focus. She needed peace.  

Glynda hugged her knees, curling up until she was as small as she could be. She still felt echoes of Ilkay’s last moments. Claws rending her flesh apart. Excited yipping as the young Beowolf ripped chunks out of her with its teeth. The newly formed creature, Lamia, Cinder’s mother, whose hands were as powerful as they were unforgiving, snapping bone with every touch.

Her stomach churned. Every hair on her body stood on end. The memory got under her skin like a parasite feeding on her suffering.

It had felt real to Glynda. It had been real, centuries ago. For just those few moments, she had seen it, she had _lived_ it.

It had been real. It happened to someone else, and for a few minutes, it happened to Glynda.

She knew by now, in the stories Cinder shrugged off, that past Witches generally met unhappy ends.

She had not been quite ready to live one of them.

Not yet.

Ilkay had spent everything she had trying to heal her beloved. She had created a monster. She had paid the price for her mistake with her life. She hadn’t even resisted. Ilkay knew it was over. She had let herself be brutalized, paying off her debt in blood and tears.

Even in the heat of the kill, Lamia’s eyes were just like Cinder’s.

For a second, for just one moment, Glynda had awoken from the dream and Lamia had been there, her shadow cast dark across Cinder’s skin, her fire burning molten in golden eyes.

The fear she had felt still stuck to her teeth and pinned her tongue against the roof of her mouth.  

All throughout her life, Glynda had never feared death. She knew it like an intimate friend, she had seen its coming many times, knew every sign of its approach. Trying to keep count of all the ways she knew death would be impossible. She had seen it in every form it took.

She was a Witch. Death ran in her veins and filled her ribs to the brim. The thick of brambles that surrounded her heart, the wilted flowers that secured her organs in place. She was death.

She had never feared it. She had known to avoid it, but fear of it was unfamiliar.

Lamia was a dragon. She killed Witches. She had killed Ilkay, and she had nearly killed Glynda.

Witches had always seemed invulnerable to Glynda. She had felt untouchable. Her Aura’s potential put her leagues beyond other hunters. It had been so for as long as she could remember. She had been unmatched. Undefeated. Unkillable.

Lamia killed Witches without a second thought. Ilkay hadn't stood a chance. What was to stop her from taking Glynda’s life as well?

She needed Glynda. That was the only thing standing between them.

And even despite that, she had almost killed Glynda at Corinth.

In the darkness of her own embrace, Glynda closed her eyes, and was staring into that gigantic maw again, watching the second sun forming at the back of Lamia’s throat.

She winced, opened her eyes, and saw the expanse of laboratory floor in front of her, Lamia’s feet standing in between pools of blood and body parts.

She closed her eyes. She saw Cinder, tossed aside like an unwanted doll, almost gone with just one of Lamia’s attacks. Barely clinging to life. It had been meant for Glynda, of course, but even her own daughter couldn’t truly stop Lamia.

Glynda forced her eyelids back open and saw Cinder’s golden eyes, ablaze under the desert sun. Grimm behind her, heralding her approach. The stiff, unnatural hold of her limbs as she moved towards immobilized prey. Watchful predator. A dragon that kills Witches.

There will always be a dragon—and there will always be a Witch.

For the hundredth time, her brain replayed the sensation of her innards being ripped from her body. She felt the pain of it. She felt death looming like a shadow over her, felt the cold touch of it in her veins.

Glynda was coming to realize that she was not death. Had never been death. She didn’t know death like death knew her.

Death had sharp, golden eyes.

Death scared her so much she could barely breathe. The pain, the terror, the bone-deep feeling of hopelessness as her body broke down and gave up. Every part of it scared her.

Ilkay had given them everything she had. Her gift to Glynda was fear.

Glynda Goodwitch had never feared death. Not until now.

She saw Lamia looming over her, shredding her flesh to ribbons, discarding innards like offal at a butcher’s. Hitting the floor was a distant sort of pain, her fading mind already struggling to take in new impressions. Her Aura tried to keep her alive, somehow, through it all.

She thought her chest would tear open from the pain in her soul. It had broken. She had broken it to save Salem. She had failed. She was dying. The life had been pulled out of her body, clawed hands and wolf’s teeth, golden eyes on all sides.

She hit the floor before she realized she had fallen asleep. The impact jolted her from the nightmares, and she braced her elbows against the floor, pushing herself to her hands and knees and gasping for air.

Her Scroll slid out of her pocket and clattered against the floor. The noise startled her, her heart skipping a beat, and then everything went still, Glynda fixated on the shape of her scroll on the floor. Her runaway thoughts quieted as she stared, her whole body settling into stillness until she could steal the granite impunity of statues.

She took a deep breath. Her fingers moved without her needing to think about it. She dialed Oz.

It rang once. Twice. Worry gnawed at her indifference at the third ring.

Finally, she heard a click, followed by a shaky, “Glynda?”

It wasn’t Oz. “Ironwood? Where is…”

There was a muted noise from the other side of the line, a weak wheeze which could have only belonged to…

“Ozpin?”

Ironwood cleared his throat, but it did nothing to steady his voice. “He is… He’s alive, Glynda. But—”

The rest of his words were drowned out when three repeated clashes like struck something like a gigantic metal bell. In the distance, she thought she heard the dragon screaming furiously.

She felt breathless all over again. “But?

“But the dome isn’t going to hold much longer, Glynda. I can see fractures from here.” Ironwood’s voice cracked, and a thorn of dread pierced the armor built around Glynda’s heart. “And Oz… I don’t think he’ll hold on much longer either…”

She didn’t respond instantly. Then, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

Ironwood said something, but she was already hanging up.

Glynda concentrated hard, the weight of the Aura suppressants on her wrists the only sensation she allowed. Fear slowly drained out of her. She became aware of Lamia’s presence, now that she knew where to search, all the way back at Beacon. Distant.

Using the Witch void was independent of her Aura. Even with the suppressants on, she could let it swallow her, but it would be easier without, letting her Aura flood through her until there was nothing left to feel.

She reached into her pocket for the key, and the suppressants fell away.

The cuffs opened with a mechanical whir, and it felt like the skin on her wrist hadn’t felt air against it in years. Her soul unfolded like a blooming flower, petals finally spreading as they were meant to. Aura rushed to every inch of her body, consuming her countless scratches and bruises in the blink of an eye.

Glynda left the room she had been offered. She found Winter and Cinder on the bridge. They weren’t talking. Cinder stood staring out the window, and Winter sat stiffly at the main controls. The ship was on autopilot, shooting through the sky using its own mechanical brain, but Winter kept her eyes on the controls.

“The barrier at Beacon is falling,” Glynda announced, both of them snapping to attention. The news took hold of each of them swiftly, Cinder’s expression going strained—Emerald and Mercury. Even Winter looked as though she thought only of her younger sister. “I took off the suppressants.”

Vivienne had kept Ozpin alive this long. She’d hadn’t let him down. And neither could Glynda.

Cinder spoke first. “You already—?”

“La—” Glynda’s voice caught in her throat, just the name threatening her resolve. At the thought, the approaching, massive signature Glynda knew was Lamia in her dragon form seemed to burn brighter. “Your mother will be here soon.”

“ _Mother_?” Winter asked, her brows shooting up, eyes snapping to Cinder.

Cinder didn’t cover her flinch nearly as well as she should have been able. Still in shock, probably. There wasn’t time to puzzle it out.

“She’s already on the way?” Cinder asked, moving toward her. “We can’t lure her here. It’s not even close to evening yet!”

“Beacon cannot fall,” was all the response Glynda had for the fear in Cinder’s eyes.

“I agree,” Winter said, rising from her seat at last.

She looked uncertain, unusually intimidated. It occurred to Glynda that they had never been in the same room together. That Winter had never experienced firsthand the pressure of Aura from a Witch soul.

“The ship has guns,” Winter said. “But if this threat is anything like I heard, they’ll only be a distraction, at best.”

Cinder’s tone was sharp, sure. She seemed frustrated WInter had agreed with Glynda. “She’ll strike this ship out of the air without a second thought. And we can’t outrun her. Glynda, why didn’t you wait? We could have put more distance between us… Let her cool off. What are we supposed to do now?”

It took a long time for Glynda to process the information she read on Cinder’s face.

She was scared.

The realization sent another stab of panic through Glynda as well, and she tried to smother it down, but all the same, she felt the snare tighten around the three of them. Cinder’s eyes gleamed not with a hunter’s edge, but were wide and white, a prey being hunted. Lamia was the predator, and all of them the prey, and Glynda had delivered them right into her jaws.

She had delivered them to the apex predator.

At once, it was apparent: she would have to do it alone.

Winter was accomplished, a huntress in her own right, but neither she nor her ship stood any chance against Lamia. And Cinder… Cinder had never raised a hand to Grimm. Cinder would not raise a hand to her own mother.

“Land the ship.” Glynda looked at them both and knew by the way they returned her stare that her eyes were too empty for comfort. That she was staring with the same hollow hunger as a Grimm on a hunt. A Witch preparing for war. “I’ll fight her.”

There could be no wavering. They needed her to fight Lamia, no matter how her soul gorged itself on her fear, full almost to bursting. She could feel herself sweating as she turned from the bridge and marched toward the passageway which would lead her to the hull.

“Glynda, wait!”

Glynda wasn’t running, so Cinder caught up with her easily. Her fingers were warm around Glynda’s cold wrist.

“Glynda! You can’t fight her!”

“She felt my Aura.” Glynda spared but a moment to turn towards Cinder. She didn’t miss the way Cinder’s hand had crawled up to her side, cradling once-broken ribs. Glynda didn’t miss the way her own hand betrayed her, pressing against her abdomen where Ilkay had been split like a carcass for slaughter. “She’s coming quickly. You should stay here.”

Just talking was shaking her. She needed to focus, to hone herself.

Cinder didn’t let her go. “Glynda, you don’t stand a chance against her! You saw what happened to…”

The ship started descending, and Cinder let out a curse, furiously looking back toward the bridge. The prickling against Glynda’s neck grew stronger every moment, heralding the dragon’s approach.

“Ilkay wasn’t fighting back,” Glynda said, more a doubtful suggestion than an argument. “I’ll be different.”

“Glynda.” Cinder’s eyes bored into her, full of desperation. They were closer together now, drawn by the fear that haunted them both, Cinder holding onto her tightly, as if they were each other’s life vests in a storm. “It wasn’t just Ilkay.”

Even Glynda felt the ripple that disrupted her struggling void. “What?”

Somehow, Cinder’s voice softened even further, so low now that Glynda had to lean in slightly to hear. “I lied to you. When I told you about Bacia. She did disappear off the record, but… I do know what happened to her.”

A now-familiar hook of ice snagged her guts at the name. She could only repeat, “What?”

“After the Hill of Roses Massacre, she fled from people. She was guilty or… I don’t know what she felt, but she entrenched herself in her soul and hunted Grimm. And eventually she hunted my mother...”  

The ship shuddered as it touched down, but Cinder didn’t even blink.

“She told me about it, Glynda. Bacia was in peak condition. She managed to wound my mother…The scar on the back of her neck—but she couldn’t kill her. Bacia nearly decapitated her, but Mother still was able to rip her apart. You can’t beat her, Glynda. I don’t know if anyone can.”

All at once, Glynda wished Cinder had kept the lie alive. That she had let Glynda believe it was just Ilkay.

Lamia was a dragon. She killed Witches.

She had killed Ilkay, who had barely resisted. She had killed Bacia, who had been determined to hunt and slay her. She had almost killed Glynda already. Going in for a second round was idiocy.

But Glynda didn’t know any other way. She was coming now. Beacon would stand as long as she could fend Lamia off. She didn’t have to win.

Her stomach churned. She felt lightheaded. She was never the type to faint, but she suddenly felt like she might. Cinder’s expression, determined to make her understand, softened with concern as Glynda swayed on the spot, trying not to let her terror show too clearly.

Bacia had done exactly what Glynda was doing. No doubt fully flourishing thanks to the Witch’s void, facing off against Lamia one on one.

She had lost. Lamia had killed her.

And now Glynda had to face her.

She did the only thing she knew to do. Glynda focused on the Witch soul, that ancient beast that dwelled in her, and let it unfold fully. This was no instinctive gut reaction to fear. This wasn’t the shallow water she had tried to hide in since Ilkay had reached out to her. The angry ocean burst free, seafoam washing over her mind, rip current pulling her under. No air. No sound. No feeling.

It was a liberating friend. All emotion melted from her. The tremors that plagued her hands escaped. Glynda invited the void to her, graveyard flowers in full bloom inside her chest.

She didn’t know what she had been so afraid of. Lamia might be a dragon. But Glynda was a huntress, and she killed Grimm.

Something opened on Cinder’s face, her mouth falling open, eyes wide, but Glynda knew nothing but her goal, her mark. Every beat of the dragon’s wings in the distance sent a ripple of gooseflesh like wind down her spine. Acute, honed for battle, she pulled her arm away from Cinder’s grasp and turned her back on her.

The hull’s door opened with a hiss of hydraulics, and Glynda met the early morning light with indifference. Her hand found the hilt of her knife in her bag. It was smooth and comforting in her hand. She didn’t draw it, not yet, but she would need it soon.

Behind her, Cinder stood frozen on the threshold of the ship. Glynda looked back only to confirm: the engines were beginning to whir to life again. With a powerful gust, the ship lifted into the air. There was an alarm. The hull’s door began to close on its own. Glynda watched Cinder disappear behind the door, her expression unreadable.

It was fine. She wasn’t worried.

Beacon would stand. Glynda was a huntress who had chosen her prey. All she had to do was wait for it to come to her.

It wouldn’t be long.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [mood tunes for next time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1W9VXuXTdxg)


	20. Chapter 20

The sky exploded in shades of gold and pink as the sun lifted above the horizon. Glynda watched it rise, her body stiff, ready. In the distance, the single blemish against the dawn was a black speck, no bigger than her thumbnail. Anyone else might have mistaken it for a trick of the eyes. Anyone else might not have sensed the beast it truly was.

Glynda knew otherwise.

Lamia was fast. Glynda had known this even before she had removed the Aura suppressants and felt it for herself. She was the fastest thing on Remnant.

Whether she was the strongest remained to be seen.

Without taking her eyes off the shape growing larger by the second, Glynda’s senses reached out elsewhere, picking up the signatures of the Grimm beneath the nearby Mountain Glenn, the ones stalking the surrounding forests. She felt the resonance of something faint, like an ember about to go out, and knew it was Cinder.

Getting farther and farther away. Glynda’s fingers flexed around the handle of her knife. Good. Winter could be counted on to help her escape.

Which meant this entire landscape, everything the eye could see, was posed to be a perfect battleground. Glynda had no misconceptions. She ran through her last encounter with Lamia mechanically, like a computer analyzing a video.

Her memory was faded, but it was enough. Immense firepower. Incredible reach. Unmatchable speed. Lamia had it all.

It was no wonder she’d killed two Witches before.

A light sensation like hot air rose in her chest, threatening to choke, but she forced it down. There was no time to concern herself with the reactions of her body. On the horizon, she could see the speck had grown wings, its shape becoming more defined as it closed the distance.

Glynda drew her knife at last. It was small. She’d have to get in close to use it. If she’d had something bigger…

What had Bacia used? Cinder had said she’d almost decapitated Lamia. The scar on her neck. Something with a long reach. Something that could reach the back of Lamia’s neck. A scythe would do it. Glynda had a student who used a scythe, and she’d seen her take out many Grimm with heavy swings. It was probably a scythe.

Glynda examined the reflection of herself in the blade of the knife. Concrete eyes. Dead eyes. Did Bacia look the same before she’d gone into battle? Ilkay had given up the moment Lamia had been made, but Bacia had fought.

And lost.

It didn’t matter. The weapon didn’t matter. All that mattered was the hunt. A weapon was little more than a tool, and a tool is only as effective as its user. She was a huntress, a Witch. Any weapon was deadly in her hands.

Her senses stretched to touch the massive dragon in the distance. She noted she did not have to try so hard this time. Lamia was close, coming fast. Glynda drew the feel of her back into herself, trying to erase everything but that, trying to give herself nothing but the sensation of her mark, her prey.

Almost in response, Lamia let out a roar, the reverberations of it vibrating through Glynda’s bones.

Nothing but the hunt. Nothing but Lamia.

Looking up, Glynda saw the shadow of the dragon eclipsing the rising sun, wings flared on either side, twice as long as any airship. She looked up and saw the bone white plate, the curved black claws, the scales dyed with blood and glistening in the sunlight. She looked up and saw two molten eyes, the hatred and wrath within them burning hotter than any star. She looked up and saw death.

And then she saw fire.

After so long in its dormant state, her Aura felt full to the bursting, overflowing like a chalice trying to contain the sea. She knew it wouldn’t matter. Against a foe like this, she had to conserve every drop. Waste would kill her. Lamia would kill her.

She leapt away as the inferno fell, her Aura pushing her well above the treetops as she fled from the fireball. Even so, the heat rolling off it prickled at her skin, her pores all opening. Trees cracked, the ground charred, and everything that had lived within a thirty foot radius of the impact was incinerated in one thunderous explosion of molten flame hitting earth.

Gone in an instant. Total annihilation.

Glynda landed beyond the blast radius with the cushion of her Aura beneath her feet, her ears ringing. When she turned to look over her shoulder, only blackened, empty earth remained of where she’d been. The flames were dying quickly, if only because there was simply nothing left to burn. The heat distorted the air above the explosion, and Glynda felt her next inhale burn all the way down into her lungs, almost as if ready to combust at any moment.

The last time they’d fought, Lamia hadn’t had this power. The last time they’d fought, it had been night.

It was fine. It didn’t matter.

The dragon’s landing shook the ground, terrible as an earthquake, but Glynda had been ready, streaking towards the beast fleet-footed and sure even over the smited land. There was no room for doubts.

Lamia’s landing was a hasty one, like a meteor crashing from orbit, her momentum pulling her forward straight toward Glynda. Lamia thundered over the earth, her wings tucking in, and lunged like a snake to skewer Glynda with teeth as big as her.

Glynda remembered: Lamia had wanted her alive. She supposed that didn’t matter anymore either.

With another burst of Aura, she leapt over Lamia’s snapping teeth, over her head, over her body, high above with a perfect view of the scale of her. From here, for the first time, she could see the scar Cinder had mentioned, a pale brown flash of flesh at the base of her neck, devoid of black scales.

The size looked about right for a scythe. Glynda’s fingers tightened on her knife as she let gravity catch her, watching as Lamia’s head twisted around, making another lunge to snatch Glynda out of the air.

Teeth flashing with the remnants of fire opened to receive her, but Glynda gave a powerful push with her Semblance, throwing herself down and away from the jaws of the dragon. She knew she wouldn’t be able to push or pull any part of Lamia. She was too big. She would have to move herself.

Even with the protective layer of Aura, Glynda felt the impact of her landing rattle all the way through her. She had tried for the jagged scar across Lamia’s neck but missed, ending up among the bone white spines protruding from Lamia’s back. Beneath her, the scales glistened black, sigils identical to the ones on Cinder’s flesh running red across her entire body.

Raising her knife high above her head, Glynda drove the point of it down as hard as she could, determined to inflict any damage.

The blade snapped cleanly when it hit the hardened scales.

Glynda stared for a moment, holding the useless handle of the knife. She remembered how easily Lamia had snapped her crop as well.

Then Lamia screamed and her whole body shifted, wings unfurling and giving a strong beat. Suddenly the ground beneath Glynda’s feet tilted sharply sideways, and she hurtled toward the burnt earth as Lamia arched into the sky.

Her shoulder hit first, but instinct made her roll, the ash on the ground exploding into the air, sticking to her clothes, coating her next inhale, blurring her vision. Glynda coughed as she caught herself on one knee, her Semblance blowing away the particles of soot, but she was still half-blind when the ground trembled in warning.

Glynda’s Aura bolstered, swelling around her like a shield. It didn’t matter.

Even with her impossible defenses, even with the sheer volume of Aura between Glynda and the blow, when Lamia’s colossal clawed hand came down on her, nothing could stop it. It was almost audible, the bending of Glynda’s Aura as she was crushed into the earth, body curled into a ball on its side, her bones groaning, ribs fracturing. All the air was forced out of her, and her vision went black, the image of Ilkay swimming before her eyes, shadowed in the blackness of the subterranean.

For half a moment, as Lamia’s hand lifted and the sun turned darkness in blinding light, Glynda thought she saw Vivienne, glimmering in the light as she’d been when she stood over Ozpin’s shoulder.

In one attack, Lamia had nearly crushed her beneath the heel of her hand. _Like swatting a bug._

Something clenched hard around Glynda’s heart, and she dragged herself out of the dirt gasping for air, her Aura rushing to repair the damage, to mend her. It wasn’t enough. Her hands trembled. She reached deeper, trying to dig herself further into the depths of her own soul, trying to cut out everything else, trying to find the strength to attack, to fight, to not die with fear locking up her joints, a mouse frozen in the gaze of a serpent.

Lamia’s stare was more potent than any snake’s, bubbling, magma eyes peering down on Glynda with unparalleled focus. Even if Glynda ran, she would find her. Even if Glynda fought, she would kill her.

_It didn’t matter._

Her soul surged, eating away at the stark terror consuming her from the inside. A dead sea, endless and deep enough that even her great fear could not fill it.

Her hands were still. The pain barely registered. The Witch was ready.

She dropped the shattered knife. It was useless to her anyway. Her soul was enough. Even without weapons, she was a hunter. She was a Witch.

The Witch exploded toward the dragon, Semblance dragging soot from the ground and compacting it together. It was a mad flash of mid-battle innovation, but the dragon had given her plenty of ashes to work with. Her Semblance kept the soot dense, squeezing it down until it formed something solid, something with an edge. She lashed out at the creature, her prey, and the crescent-shaped blade screeched against black scales, gouging a deep line into them.

The dragon screamed, flames spewing from its maw, but the Witch didn’t care. Even as her Aura began to buckle against the heat, she didn’t retreat, skin beginning to burn and blister. Her scythe of ashes didn’t require her to touch it. It didn’t matter if her flesh burned.

The only thing that mattered was the hunt.

The bladed edge of her scythe caught the dragon’s lower jaw, the force snapping its maw closed, the flames hissing through its teeth as dozens of scales chipped, some even falling away. It still wasn’t enough to cut through.

The Witch needed more power, but even her endless Aura was struggling to keep up with the taxes of the battle. Her flesh knitted together, redness disappearing as she pulled her scythe back with the power of her Semblance, its wicked edge driving toward the same spot again, intending to punch through. A clawed hand caught it, the strength overwhelming even the Witch’s vast Aura.

It didn’t stop her. She released the soot, and it fell into a million pieces without her Semblance to keep it together. Before the dragon could realize the blade it had just caught was nothing more than ash, the Witch was already pulling more from the ground around them, reforming her weapon and dashing beneath the dragon’s massive body.

The dragon let out a snarl as she scored useless lines across the scales of one front leg. The Witch’s eyes darted up, snapping to a small, brown patch along its ribs.

She remembered: she had stabbed it there while it was human.

Bursting from the ground, she flew at the spot with her scythe, Semblance swinging it toward the exposed flesh, but the dragon reared back, and the strike came up short, the Witch landing among the soot. The dragon caught her the moment her feet touched the ground, slamming her with one clawed strike that sent her soaring across the ground, tumbling and crashing through the ash.

Her glasses broke. Her arm broke. Her ribs broke. She took stock of each fracture as she rose, soot in her mouth, coated across her sweating skin. Her Aura flooded the damage, trying to drown it, pulling pain out with the rip current. The dragon had thrown her far enough that she had time to recover. She didn’t wait.

Dark blood soaking through her clothes, the Witch flew back at the creature, forming new blades as she went. It bounded to meet her, swinging its massive head in to snatch her from the ground.

The points of three scythes found purchase across the dragon’s shoulder, its arm, its long, arching neck, but the Witch didn’t even try to avoid the teeth, satisfied to give blood for any taken. Yanked from the ground, the world went black, her Aura straining against the vicious, serrated edges of the dragon’s incisors, her lungs filling with the ash which lined its mouth.

She was in the creature’s jaws, held across her chest, her legs dangling out as the dragon shook its massive head, trying to rip her in half. Her Aura sparked and then parted, the tips of teeth digging in, every shake driving them deeper through her Aura. It didn’t matter. Here, there were no scales to protect the dragon.

Using the ash on her own skin, the Witch created created a thin blade as long as her arm and drove it into the roof of the dragon’s mouth with all the force her Semblance could muster.

It worked.

The dragon screamed, black gore splattering across the Witch’s face. She was released with a sudden jerk, colliding with the ground and feeling yet another snap of bone, this time in her leg. Though it was writhing, still screeching in pain, the dragon didn’t allow the Witch to rise again.

Raking its claws across the ground, it cut lines through the Witch’s Aura, the gaps failing to knit together before its other hand dealt the same, over and over, like a wolf scratching at the ground. Blood gushed as its massive claws tore through the paper-thin resistance of the Witch’s skin. Her Aura fought with all it had left, not enough to keep her from being dragged across the ground with each swipe, but enough to keep the claws from cutting through bone.

On her back in the dirt, covered in soot and blood, the Witch stared up at the sky. The dragon glared back down at her, its massive head silhouetted against the sun, the only visible details the two blazing eyes.

 _Death_ , she thought.

Even so, she fought to rise, the hunt pounding through her veins.

The dragon merely batted her aside, and she felt every injury throb as she was tossed twenty feet across, deathly still when her body finally ran out of momentum. She was face down. She didn’t try to rise this time. Her body, usually a flawless machine, refused to cooperate. It was damaged. Soon, vital processes would begin shutting down. Her nature kept her mind sharp as a blade, but she was trapped in a dying body.

The ground trembled with each of the dragon’s steps, a low growl vibrating through the air as it moved in for the kill. It stopped just short of the Witch, and she could feel its gaze upon her.

The Witch longed for a breath that wasn’t ash. Her neck was one of the few parts of her that weren’t broken, and she forced her head to turn slightly, just enough to bring her eyes out of the darkness and catch a glimmer of sunlight. It was quickly blocked out by the shadow of the beast above her. Her Aura rushed to fill the holes in her, but with the extent of the damage done and the dragon already overhead, it would be too slow. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply.

She caught the warm scent of a campfire.

Alarms fired in her brain, a dream of a memory tugging at her, at the Witch, at the embodiment of the hunt. There could be nothing else within her, but she still remembered.

Cracking open an eye, she found the shadow which fell over her didn’t belong to the dragon.

It belonged to its daughter.

*

Finding her way to the battleground had been easy. Even if Glynda’s soul hadn’t been a dazzling beacon in its current state, all she had to do was follow the stench of an inferno, acrid smoke on the wind, and the sound of her mother’s furious screams. Cinder’s Aura fluttered along her flesh from the mad dash here, in synch with the rapid palpitations of her heart, almost unworkable because of the fear alighting every nerve.

Lamia stared down at her, frozen mid-stride, claws curling in the burnt earth. Her scales were scored with new wounds, her eyes locked on only Cinder, and it took everything in her to smother the ugly urge to run, to save only herself. Black ichor dripped from her mother’s gaping maw, her jaws parted in expectation, teeth stained with red. Red. Human red.

_Glynda._

Cinder swallowed past the lump in her throat, mouth parched. Her hands shook at her sides.

On the ground only paces behind her, Glynda lay in shambles. Cinder had never seen her so injured, had never seen _anyone_ so injured, not while they still drew breath. If it weren’t for the palpable, oppressing pressure of her soul crawling up Cinder’s spine and nestling into her chest, setting her already overworked senses into overtime, she would have thought she was dead.

Her golden eyes flickered to Glynda briefly, and before she could stop it, a single phrase burrowed into her skull, imbedding deep in her mind: _like a corpse._

It hadn’t even been half an hour. It had barely been twenty minutes. Yet all the same, each second elapsed since the last time Cinder had seen her wore on Glynda like an eternity. If she’d been faster, if she’d been more fearless, more certain—

Her mother let out a cry, her form evaporating into flames. It wasn’t an attack. The fire twisted and dispersed in a flurry of heat and smoke, leaving behind thick muscle and terrible horns, a body no less deadly for its human figure. She was already running, smoke clinging to her as she crossed the clearing.

Cinder stood between her and the thing she’d sought for so long, the only possibility to break the shackles of her cursed existence, prepared to whether any attack, prepared to make her own flesh a bastion to protect the Witch—to protect _Glynda_.

Her ribs throbbed with a phantom pain, Aura rushing to her flesh to make her strong as steel.

But without need.

Tall as she was, Lamia fell to her knees just to be level with Cinder, taking her face in her hands. She had discarded human language in favor of frantic trilling noises Cinder remembered vividly from her childhood. Cinder stiffened, her body shaken by the dissonance of a creature prepared for war being met with only a mother’s tenderness.

With tears in her eyes, Lamia bumped her forehead to Cinder’s, big horns against sanded nubs, a familial greeting between two dragons, one reminiscent of the days when Cinder still had horns at all. It came naturally to her, as if she wasn’t aware they were not the same, as if she was still ignorant of Cinder’s humanity.

A thought struck like lightning, sticking to the inside of Cinder’s mouth like poison: maybe she _was_.

The elation in her mother spilled from her with broken gasps for air, bumping foreheads and nuzzling her face, all the while clicking her tongue and cooing affectionately. It was the first time she’d ever seen her mother like this, her skin glowing a warm lantern’s glow while she kneeled among the dead ashes of her own making.

Cinder felt speechless, unable to respond, staring dumbly up at her mother’s face as she tucked Cinder’s hair behind her ears and kissed her forehead. Her smile rivaled even the sun in warmth.

“ **Cinder!** ”

Her voice cracked when she remembered words, but even then, the sheer emotion didn’t seem to translate, language useless here. Big hands roved down from Cinder’s face, touching her shoulders, her arms, back to her face, as if taking in every inch of her were simply too much for Lamia to contain.

“ **I thought** — **I thought** — **Daughter, I** —”

Moments ago, she had nearly killed Glynda. Two hundred years ago, she’d survived Bacia and left her in pieces. And centuries before that, she had burned her way from the darkness of Mountain Glenn. Cinder had put herself between her mother and the thing she had chased for centuries, yet Lamia didn’t seem to care, reduced to broken speech and endless tears.

“ **I dreamt it, Daughter. I** — **I saw it! She took you from me. She** — **The Witch, she** —”

Lamia’s touch drifted to Cinder’s torso, and Cinder flinched, drawing distance between them in an instant. Her hands shook.

Red ringed eyes stared back at her through lashes heavy with tears, and Cinder felt her jaw ratchet tight, her teeth aching from the pressure. Her pulse was a caged bird in her chest, soaring higher and higher in a bid to escape, to run away and leave the empty husk of her behind.

All that stopped her was the constant, hollow scrape of Glynda’s Aura across her entire body, flooding her senses and putting every hair on end.

Her mother’s grief was unstoppable, but the glow on her skin dimmed with shock, eyes wide and searching. Massive chest still shuddering with sobs, Lamia blinked hard, her fingers recoiling from the place where they’d nearly caved Cinder’s ribs, an agonized expression replacing the relief, the sharpness of it lancing through Cinder’s heart.

“ **I thought you were** **_dead_** **.** ”

She croaked the last word.

_Just like Hati._

Cinder grasped at her own chest, nails threatening the fabric of her coat. Her expression must have mirrored her mother’s because Lamia’s eyes flickered down, seeking something, trying to find the source of her pain.

Cinder found herself wishing for hellfire and violence. She wished her mother had worn hatred and fury, fueled by a betrayal. She wished for a fight. _Anything_.

“I’m—I’m fine,” Cinder managed, her voice barely rising above a whisper.

No matter what Cinder said, she could see the subtle shifts in the tides within her mother, the confusion and fear eating away at the relief of their reunion. It built as empty air between them, a thousand things racing through Cinder’s mind. How would Lamia read it? What would she do?

Cinder had no plan. She hadn’t had time for a plan.

The first clash of Glynda’s soul against her mother’s strength had reverberated through her like an electric pulse, jerking her from her stupor aboard the airship, but even so, it had taken Winter’s hand upon her shoulder—familiar—to rouse her completely. In the minutes since Glynda’s departure, Cinder’s mind had only played through one thought, over and over again, a deathly mantra that turned all her joints to stone:

_I can’t._

Yet she had. Here she was, the last bulwark between Glynda and Lamia, the only thing standing between Glynda and death.

As if on cue, Glynda shifted behind her, a painful wheeze pushed from her throat as she tried to force herself to rise. As battle-focused and foolish as she had always been. Cinder glanced back, seeing the trembles that ran through Glynda’s still broken limbs, the way her body gave out under her weight and sent her back down into the soot. Her instincts were no doubt screaming for her to rise, to fight, but her bones simply refused to carry her, and Cinder’s heart clenched all over again, this time with a different sort of pain.

Mother was looking too, expression shifting to a dark hunger Cinder recognized from the battle outside Corinth, from the instant she had been struck down in Glynda’s place.

“ **The Witch.** ” Her voice went low, the lantern’s warmth dying from her skin entirely, replaced by a building inferno. No longer did her world consist only of Cinder, entire being devoted only to her. “ **I will deal with her, Daughter. Stay back.** ”

She rose from her knees and backed off from Cinder, leaving her ample room to get out of the way. Cinder glanced to either side. She hesitated. She had no idea how to escape.

“ **Cinder?** ”

At the sound of her name, Cinder looked up, making eye contact with her mother at last. She felt small. Insignificant against her mother’s strength. She puffed her chest out as if it would make her taller, heels firmly planted on the ground. Her hands still shook.

Even without words, the display wasn’t subtle: she wasn’t moving.

Lamia’s stance was uncharacteristically weak, holding her shoulders low, hands hanging as if she didn’t know what to do with them. She cocked her head to the side, open bewilderment on her face. “ **Daughter?** ”

“You’ll kill her,” Cinder said, voice growing marginally. “You _can’t_.”

Lamia moved forwards as if she was going to push past her, but stopped after just a step, still offering Cinder the chance to move of her own accord. “ **I remember now, Daughter… Thank you. I will tame myself, I promise. Now that you’re back…** ”

Her mother trailed off, fingers twitching at her sides. In her mind’s eyes, Cinder could vividly imagine Hati slinking behind her, hackles raised, bristling anxiously. Her other half, three times her size and still small in comparison, possessing all the animal instincts Cinder had learned by watching. His unease would have been clearer to see, body tucking low to the ground in deference to Lamia, the hierarchy unquestioned by any Grimm, anyone.

Until now.

Cinder had seen other Grimm fight before. It was rare, but in packs, there was always a hierarchy. To meet her mother’s gaze like this, to refuse to move, her body stiff, air growing thicker between them by the moment… It sent a clear message. It was a challenge.

Her mother was uncertain. Seeing her mother so insecure was odd, uncomfortably unfamiliar.

Lamia moved again, slightly to the side, but still didn’t try actually passing Cinder. Cinder kept her body facing her mother, barely remembering to blink as they maintained eye contact. Lamia licked her lips nervously. Cinder leaned forwards on her feet. The silence was tense, as if the first noise or word would spark a wildfire—and it very well might, knowing her mother’s unpredictability.

Cinder felt herself sweating. Her hands shook.

More than any words could, Cinder’s refusal to move told Lamia that something was wrong, but she had yet to put all the pieces together. Their continued eye contact made Cinder reluctant to even blink, refusing to look away for even a second, knowing that whoever lowered her gaze would forfeit the standoff.

“ **Daughter.** ” Lamia’s tone was hardening. “ **What is the meaning of this?** ”

Just like confronting the Creeps on the way out of Mountain Glenn, Cinder knew she had to show no uncertainty. One second of weakness was all it took. Grimm obeyed the laws of nature, bowing their heads to the strong. Confidence was everything. She held eye contact, standing as tall as possible, and when her mother moved to pass her, she stepped in front of her to block her path.

They were two stray dogs fighting over a scrap of roadkill, seconds from violence.

Once again, she put herself directly between Lamia and Glynda. Cinder curled her upper lip, baring her teeth, and for a split second, her mother looked alarmed. Cinder’s eyes promised violence, blood for blood, her fists opening to hold her claws ready at her sides, Aura flaring down her arms.

Lamia’s shoulders went tense, lips pulling back as she flinched away, startled by the display, an animal being cornered even on this vast, open field. She made a sound of worry, a half-whine in the back of her throat and averted her gaze.

Unlike humans, beasts were not so eager to fight amongst one another. Cinder knew animals were reluctant to draw blood if there was a chance they could be injured in the process. Lamia had never been challenged by any Grimm, her eyes always turned outward, but now, from her own daughter... Her face was a twisted mix of emotions—confusion, anxiety, anger—things Cinder had never seen directed her way before.

Mother stared into the ground and to either side, slinking back several steps, and Cinder imagined Hati with his ears pinned back, tail tucked between his legs.

“ **I don’t understand,** ” she said, her voice quiet like distant thunder. “ **Cinder, I—** “

“You will not take this Witch,” Cinder said, forcing a quiver out of her voice. She bared her teeth again.

Cowering wasn’t like Mother. The reluctance in her movements was a stranger to Cinder.

Her mother was clever. Maybe thanks to her origins as a scientist, Cinder thought grimly, she could be absurdly sharp and analytical. But she couldn’t understand this. She couldn’t understand her own child.

Maybe she didn’t _want_ to understand. Maybe she didn’t want to even consider the possibilities that she would have to accept in order to understand this.

“ **We are so close,** ” Lamia said. She didn’t move, rooted to the spot by Cinder’s threat display.

Cinder growled the words out again: “You will _not_.”

“ **I** **_must_** **,** ” Lamia said, and Cinder could hear the apprehension building in her tone. Agitation was clear in the way she kept licking her lips, eyes flickering up, gazing past Cinder to the motionless shape at her feet. “ **Daughter, without the Witch…** ”

She would be doomed to continue this immortal life. _Alone_. No respite. No hope of salvation.

Cinder ground her teeth, but she didn’t allow the tears pricking at her eyes to show, steeling herself with knowledge that her mother’s salvation would come at the cost of Glynda’s soul, humanity’s very existence. She steeled herself with the promise: _Glynda would not be Bacia. Glynda would not be Ilkay._

“We’ll find another way! There has to be something…”

“ **For centuries, we’ve suffered… Cinder, the Witch is our enemy.** ” Her mother grew, her eyes narrowing with remembered hatred. Resolve filled her with the substance Cinder’s threats had stolen from her. “ **For centuries she has hunted us. I can smell the death on her flesh. It clings to her like smoke, Daughter. I have felt her in my bones. I have hunted her through lifetimes. She cannot escape. I won’t allow it. Her crimes must be paid.** ”

As Lamia stood taller, Cinder struggled not to shrink, the shadow of her mother at full height swallowing her smaller form. She could sense  it, feel it in the way she was beginning to lean back, her stance widening to accommodate: the balance was shifting.

“She isn’t the same as the others!”

“ **She has killed us! She wears our deaths! She will kill again! It’s her nature, she’ll—Daughter—she is a Witch!** ”

Lamia’s fingers curled, reaching out as if she wanted nothing more than to touch Cinder, to move her aside, her whole bunched with mounting frustration at being held from the thing she craved most. Cinder’s palms sparked with flame, flying up as though to defend herself, and Lamia let out a pained howl.

“ **Cinder!** ” Disbelief reigned, her mother’s vast reserves of fury stirring. She couldn’t understand, but she couldn’t accept it, her hands tangling in her own dark hair, head bowing. She shook her head over and over again. “ **Why—I don’t…The Witch…** ”

Even with every survival instinct in her screaming to yield or run, Cinder forced herself to stand her ground as she let the fire in her hands die. “I know they’ve hurt you, Mother! Bacia hunted you—” Guilt lanced through her at the thought of the scar across the back of her mother’s neck, the proof that Bacia had come for her life, tracked her to her home and stood before her not as a defender, but a hunter. “—but Glynda won’t! I swear she won’t.”

“ **No!** ”

Lamia blitzed forward, trying to rush past Cinder, but she leapt in defense, blocking her way to Glynda with her own body, Aura surging.

Catching her mother by the wrists—too big for her to even wrap her fingers around completely—Cinder trembled bodily, her eyes wide and fearful. She could feel the pleading in her own voice: “ _Please_! Mother, she isn’t Bacia! She isn’t Ilkay—”

Lamia ripped her hands away from Cinder as though she’d been burned, as though that were something Cinder was capable of even doing. Her mother’s expression was a canvas, the colors of terror and rage and utter shock bleeding together, deep violet and burnished red and a bright yellow flaring and fading in turns.

She tried to rip past Cinder again, but every time, Cinder blinked in front of her, her muscles straining to keep up, only possible because she knew her mother so well, could read the inclinations of her body before she could even act.

“ **Stop!** ” Lamia snarled, but tears fell freely. “ **Don’t—Don’t speak of her… Ilkay—She…** ”

Memories from Mountain Glenn rushed through Cinder like a tidal wave, her body recalling the feel of waking for the first time, the scent of death and suffering thick in the air, saturating it, every Grimm leaving behind its fear and anger like clawmarks over the walls. Like clawmarks over _her_ , the weight of their presence drowning her, churning until every breath felt like dark water.

And at the center of it: Ilkay, the Witch of Mountain Glenn, her sins written into her very being, into the very thing she’d sundered bringing Lamia into existence.

“She didn’t want this! Ilkay never wanted to hurt you, and neither will Glynda!”

Her mother tossed her head and gave a rending scream, throwing herself with reckless abandon, her sobs piercing Cinder through. Her flesh exploded in rapid immolation, flames stealing all the oxygen in the air, her shape growing so quickly that Cinder could do nothing but stumble backwards and fall to her knees.

The full bulk of her mother erupted into being, her tail lashing, and Cinder felt death upon her, her one thought of Glynda, of the body lying next to hers facedown in the ash. She threw herself over Glynda’s back and shoulders, covering as much as she could as her mother bounded toward them, flames sparking at her teeth, and pounced into the air.

The beat of her wings brought a whirlwind of soot spinning around the two of them, the force of her cry shaking the very earth beneath them, Cinder’s ears ringing with her grief.

With her heart pounding in her ears, Cinder’s head snapped up, eyes unable to believe what they were seeing: the dark shape of her mother soaring over the trees at the edge of the blast zone, spewing flames over the forest and into the air. Her silhouette grew smaller against the sun, and Cinder let out a wheeze, her chest burning for air, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

She—She was _alive_. _They_ were alive.

Another scream echoed through the air, seizing around Cinder’s heart like a cold vice, but even that couldn’t freeze the fear from her, tears clouding her vision as she pulled herself off Glynda.

Trembling bodily, she choked back the real sobs strangling each breath, thinning them to shuddering half-gasps. She’d thought—when she changed, Cinder had seen her own death writ large in hellfire and the massive claws she’d crawled over as a child. She’d seen her mother whetting her teeth upon a traitor’s flesh before ripping apart the Witch in a frenzy, wrought with emotion to the point of losing all sense.

But her mother had fled. Chased by her refusal, by the way Cinder had put herself between her and Glynda, denying any blood spilled without first going through her.

Lamia had felt her daughter’s betrayal, yet she still could not bring herself to hurt her.

The knowledge somehow didn’t comfort her at all. Instead, it felt like her heart had fallen right out of her chest, a hollow pain thudding in its place.

It felt ugly that she had underestimated the influence of her mother’s love for her.

Glynda coughed, and it was a wet, disgusting sound—throat and mouth full of blood and specks of freshly disturbed ash, no doubt, spitting red to clear her lungs. It startled Cinder from her trance, her hands clenching into quaking fists before she forced them open, scrambling to pull Glynda into her lap and flip her over.

Her nerves were already fried, but that didn’t stop a new wave of dread from shooting up her spine at the sight of Glynda. Empty eyes stared up at her from a ragdoll body, the torn flesh mending messily, prioritizing speed over everything else. A rush towards functionality. A rush towards returning to the hunt.

“ _Stop_ ,” Cinder choked out, taking Glynda’s face in her hands. “She’s gone. You’re _safe_!”

Glynda didn’t even blink, skin covered in soot, limbs all immobile, the breaks in bone still healing. Cinder shuddered, thumbs sliding over her cheeks, blackening with the ash there, sparking with Aura as an offering. Glynda’s Aura didn’t even respond, spilling over in pulses, stretched to its maximum capacity already.

And _still_ she looked like this.

Cinder didn’t know first aid. She didn’t know how to heal someone without using Aura. Glynda’s was already working overtime to repair the damage, but Cinder felt useless, staring down at the mess left behind from even a short encounter with her mother. It was hard to even see the extent of it all beneath the ash and blood, and Cinder sobbed.

Her hands flew to the buckles of her coat, ripping out of it as fast as she could. Quickly but gently as she could, Cinder drew the fabric across Glynda’s face, trying to wipe away the mess as if that would help.

She barely did more than smear it, but it was something, and she prayed Glynda felt it, heard her murmurs of _you’re safe, I’m here, she’s gone._

Her jade pendent swung around her neck as she stretched to reach the bare parts of Glynda’s arms, finally free of the cage of her coat, the place she’d kept it hidden since Glynda had learned of her betrayal. Now Glynda watched it, her head cradled in Cinder’s lap, while Cinder wiped at her arms, the unnatural jut of mending bones beneath her fingertips.

“It’s going to be alright, Glynda,” Cinder promised, but even to her own ears it sounded full of hope rather than certainty. “I’m here, love. Please, _please_ say something…”

Golden eyes flickered down to Glynda’s face as Cinder leaned back, fearful of disturbing the healing process too much. Vacant eyes. Dead eyes. How deeply had Glynda entrenched herself in her soul? How terrified had she had to be to sink in? Was she even aware Cinder was there at all?

It struck her all at once: Glynda wasn’t looking at her at all. She was looking through her, those eyes locked on the horizon far behind Cinder, where her mother was disappearing.

Cinder tossed aside her coat, dirty with blood and more, and took Glynda’s face in both hands again, trying to force her to see. Her skin was cold against Cinder’s flesh, the claw marks over her face still bleeding. “Glynda! Stop! She’s gone, I promise… Please, Glynda just look at me.”

There was no response. Glynda’s stare was empty, and Cinder knew she longed to chase after her lost prey. She was like a cat staring up at birds, tension and hunger lining her even though she knew she couldn’t reach.

This was a Witch. This was the mechanical hunter at the core of Glynda. Devoid of everything but a drive to hunch and track and hunt.

And _still_ , her mother had been winning. _Soundly_.

Cinder felt herself bend beneath the weight of this realization. Her forehead pressed into Glynda’s chest, the warmth of blood against her flesh turning her stomach. She strangled back a sob and tried to smooth Glynda’s tattered clothes with shaking hands, fingers eventually fisting in the crimson stained fabric.

 _Everything_. Glynda had put all her strength into this fight, and she hadn’t even come close to winning. Cinder recalled their fights, the way she’d struggled to match and overwhelm Glynda, but Lamia’s power reached far beyond hers, perhaps even beyond their powers combined.

But Glynda had kept going back in, rushing into her mother’s jaws in the vain hope of drawing blood, uncaring of every drop shed in the pursuit of it.

The Witch’s void was an ugly, vile thing, offering peace in exchange for self-preservation.

 _But she was still alive._ With her face pressed to Glynda’s breast, Cinder could hear the promising beat of her heart, the steady one-two of life, and she forced herself to sober, to rise and meet Glynda’s hollow stare, furiously wiping away her own tears. “It’s alright, Glynda. I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

If Glynda heard, she made no indication, blinking slowly.

Cinder brushed her flyaway hair out of her face, trying again to wipe away the ash, promising her over and over again that she wasn’t leaving. It was a futile effort at cleaning her up, but it gave Cinder something to do, her mind racing, as Glynda's wounds began to seal closed, jagged white strips of scar tissue left behind.

In the distance, the hum of an airship motor drew Cinder’s gaze, her eyes flickering up to find the Atlesian vessel touching down at the edge of the burnt earth. _Winter_ , she thought, and for the first time she felt unaltered relief, her body giving an exhausted sag at the thought of having someone else to help her.

Glynda sat up, almost headbutting Cinder in the chin as she did, and Cinder nearly leapt out of her own skin.

“G-Glynda?”

Glynda turned to look at her, legs crossing beneath her, arms hanging limply over her thighs, but said nothing. Still, it was the first time she’d moved since Cinder had arrived, and for a moment of stark terror, Cinder thought she might jump to her feet to make pursuit.

Her hands found Glynda’s shoulders before she could, but Glynda offered no resistance, simply sitting there, her eyes boring into Cinder’s.

“Glynda?”

No response, but she wasn’t looking anywhere but at Cinder. She was actually _seeing_ Cinder.

Cinder’s grip grew looser, sliding down her arms to catch her hands, fingers cold in her own. Not knowing what else to do, she stoked her Aura, giving off enough heat to warm them both. Glynda’s Aura butted against it blindly, seeking enemies to fight, but apparently recognized her and accepted her warmth.

Hydraulics hissed in the distance, and Cinder’s head whipped around, seeing the ramp descending, Winter appearing at the entrance to the hull. Gone was the usual Atlesian steel—Winter made no qualms about sprinting down the ramp before it had even opened completely, ash kicked up to dirty her uniform.

Winter’s sword was in her hand, the dust glowing pale blue on the sheath. “Glynda!”

Cinder didn’t dare rise to meet her, though a part of her would have relished the strange comfort of Winter at her side, someone who could do—could do _something_. “She’s alive! I made it—”

 _In time_ didn’t seem right. Just looking at her was enough to see that.

In fact, the moment Winter was close enough to truly see Glynda, she froze, three paces behind Cinder, her eyes wide, expression uncharacteristically open. Rather than comfort, this only brought confirmation: Glynda really was that bad.

“Is—” Winter sounded breathless. “Is she okay?”

 _No_ , Cinder thought, turning back to look at Glynda. Her eyes didn’t even reflect Winter, fixed solely on Cinder, her body still as stone and just as cold. Though her wounds had almost completely healed, she still didn’t respond to anything. Cinder let her Aura flare again, rubbing small circles with her thumbs over the back of Glynda’s.

Shaking her head, Cinder said, “I don’t know.”

Without looking away, Cinder heard Winter let out a stiff breath, her leather gloves tightening around the handle of her sword before pulling away entirely. Slowly, she approached, heels covered in soot.

“Should we bring her inside?”

Cinder shook her head again. “I don’t think we should try to move her.”

“Do we… Just wait?”

Cinder didn’t see anything else they could do. Glynda had to come back eventually. She _had_ to.

Winter seemed to understand her lack of a response. The click of a comm-device was the only warning before Cinder heard her voice, sharp and authoritative, just the way she remembered. She was giving orders to ship’s automated system, telling it to park and await further orders.

Then, after a short pause that Cinder thought signified her of the end of the conversation, she said, “Alert me if that… Alert me if any Grimm get within a hundred mile radius of this area. I want our sensors extended as far as they go.”

Without another word, Winter dropped to one knee beside Glynda and Cinder.

Quietly, she said, “Whatever you need… I’ll do it.”

Cinder blinked hard, unable to meet either Glynda or Winter’s stare. She looked down at her hands gently grasping Glynda’s instead. “She isn’t coming back. My mother… She knows now.”

“You… Didn’t fight her?”

“ _No_.” Her voice was already growing strained, threatening to crack. It was too much all at once. “She left this time without even trying. If she had, I’d be… We’d both be dead. But I don’t know about next time. She _knows_ now, even if she didn’t before. I’m not… ”

 _Like her_ stuck in her throat, and Cinder eyes lifted to meet Glynda’s, a sudden realization cutting straight through her. Glynda had tracked her before, had hunted her across Remnant, but now, when there should have been nothing but hunting instincts in her, she didn’t attack Cinder. She recognized her, even from the moment she had appeared.

In Mountain Glenn, Cinder had feared Glynda had seen her mother overlaid upon her skin. Now, when there no chance of deception, she proved she had never seen that at all.

Cinder’s head dropped slightly, her cry strangled in her throat, her shoulders trembling to contain them. Distantly, she felt Winter’s hesitant hand upon her shoulder, an attempt at comfort even with the distance they’d drawn between themselves.

They didn’t speak. They simply sat there like that, the three of them, as the sun rose steadily into the middle of the sky. Glynda didn’t talk or move, but the violent storm of her Aura was receding as it became obvious there would be no more wounds it would need to heal. No longer working overtime to mend herself. That was something.

All Cinder’s muscles began to ache from sitting there for so long, but she stayed frozen in place with Glynda, Winter at their side prepared to offer whatever assistance they might need. The sound of birdsong was returning to the area. It had taken time for the wildlife to grow bold enough to return after Glynda and Lamia had scared it off. It was comforting that life was back, even where her mother had scorched the earth.

A fresh wind picked up the ashes around them, promising that someday, even this crater of death would heal.

In Cinder’s hands, Glynda’s twitched.

Straightening violently enough to startle Winter, Cinder shuffled closer on her knees, searching desperately for any sign of life. “Glynda?”

Jade green eyes blinked slowly, flickering languidly between Cinder and Winter, and Cinder felt her heart soar in her chest. She lifted one hand to cup Glynda’s face, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind her ear.

“Glynda, can you hear me?”

Again, her fingers twitched against Cinder’s, and Cinder felt herself smile, her eyes pricking with tears, letting out a little stutter of a laugh.

“She’s—She’s coming back!”

Even despite this bold proclamation, Glynda didn’t speak, though her lips parted as though she longed too, surprise tinging her blank expression when she couldn’t. Winter and Cinder didn’t say anything, but Cinder continued to stroke Glynda’s cheek, ignoring the feel of scarred flesh beneath her fingers.

“It’s okay, Glynda,” she said, trying to fill the space, the surprise quickly turning to hints of alarm even through the veil of passivity that still enshrouded around her. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

It was hard to tell, but Cinder thought that set her at ease somewhat. Even so, she noticed the telltale bob of Glynda’s throat, like she was straining her vocal cords into usage.

“Winter, can you… Can you bring water? Please.”

It felt strange asking anything of her, but true to her word, Winter rose without a murmur of complaint, moving swiftly back towards the ship to do as Cinder had requested.

Left alone, Cinder bent closer, touching her forehead to Glynda’s, hand sliding across the back of her neck to hold her close. It was a promise, one she’d made with words so many times before: _I’m here. I’m not going anywhere._

And this time, Glynda responded in kind. Cinder felt a hand on her face, cupping her chin. Her hand was gentle. Though they were already close, Glynda seemed to urge her closer, the look in her eyes filling Cinder with a effervescent joy, one she could barely contain.

“I thought I lost you…” Cinder managed, her voice failing her, emotion choking every word.

It wasn’t easy to read the emotion on Glynda’s face, but the fact that there was emotion at all was telling enough. It looked like concern, but also relief; caution but also affection. “Cinder.”

She had come back. It had taken her time, but she had returned.

Cinder nodded despite the tears collecting at her lashes. “I’m here.”

“The—” Glynda voice was rough from disuse. She cleared her throat. “The dragon?”

Short-worded as always. Cinder didn’t care, just grateful to have her back. “Gone. I wouldn’t let her have you. I—I don’t think she’ll be back. At least not for some time.”

Glynda nodded slowly, moving her hand from Cinder’s chin to her cheek. “Are you okay?”

That Glynda was asking that of her was so—so Glynda. She felt a hollow smirk tug at her lips, an instinctive attempt to drive out the real fear she had felt. She shook her head, Glynda’s hair mixing among her own, blonde and pitch black strands twining. “No. You almost died.”

She nodded again, as if taking in the information for the first time. Maybe she didn’t remember at all. She must have. Cinder thought she must have. But she wasn’t sure.

“I’m back now,” Glynda said, warmth returning to her tone. “It’s okay. I’m back.”

Had she looked upset? Cinder didn’t know. “You’re back,” she agreed. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Glynda’s smile was only halfway there, but it was better than nothing at all. She shrugged stiffly, like the actual task of moving was still a struggle, her eyes wandering off for a second. Her fingers closed around Cinder’s, a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry. I thought I could…solve everything. I was scared.”

“I’m scared too,” Cinder said, taking Glynda’s free hand in her own. “Stay with me from now on.”

It was a promise much too lofty to hold, but Glynda still nodded, her eyes dropping, almost bashfully. Cinder felt herself warm, her skin beginning to emanate a soft light, and Glynda’s eyes glimmered with something equally loving. Releasing her hand, Glynda closed the distance between them, sealing the impossible promise with a kiss.

She could have died. Would have, if Cinder had been a minute too late. Cinder held her reckless, foolish Witch tight, tasting copper and dry ashes. Against her chest, Glynda's fingers wrapped around the jade pendant strung from her neck.

Neither of them heard Winter returning until she purposefully coughed into her fist and called attention to herself.

“I brought some water,” Winter said flatly, all her stiff professionalism returning. Even so, a sparkle of relief brightened her gaze as she looked them both over. “But it seems it might not be necessary anymore.”

Cinder felt herself flush, taking no comfort in the fact that it was probably impossible to see because of the golden hues adorning her skin. She tried to tamp it down, keeping her eyes on the ground, but there was no stopping the soft luminescence of her skin when every inch of her burned with untempered affection.”

Cinder scanned Winter’s expression, but she found nothing more than amused resignation, and felt herself relax.

Winter asked, “Shall we go?”

“Yes, let’s,” Glynda said, recognizing Cinder’s eternal silence.

She tried to stand, her joints audibly cracking from the heavy damage and fast healing followed by hours of sitting, and Cinder was quick to support her, offering her strength for Glynda to lean on.

Glynda accepted it wholly.

“I suppose I shouldn’t underestimate Beacon’s finest and Remnant’s most notorious,” Winter commented, watching to ensure they didn’t require help. When she was satisfied she was unneeded, she turned, beckoning them and beginning a slow pace back towards the ship. “Now, please tell me an actual, non-fatal plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope y'all enjoyed the ride!! two songs this time!!!! [1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tmrx6JVEAjQ) / [2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8KvK5yle7o)


	21. Chapter 21

Even before they returned to the ship, Glynda was beginning to sag against Cinder.

Winter had to shorten her strides to give them the chance to keep up as they climbed the ramp back to the ship. Cinder did her best to support Glynda, but she was far from being able to carry her, relying on her to at least trudge along. The silence was thick, leaden with the question Winter had posed just moments before: what was their plan?

Cinder hadn’t planned past saving Glynda’s life. She hadn’t even planned through _that_. A real plan was what they needed, but no one knew where to start, especially not with Glynda in such bad shape.

 _At least she’s alive_ , Cinder thought, the memory of Glynda prone on the ground dropping like a stone into her stomach.

When they at last crested the ramp, Winter stopped and clasped her arms behind her back. Unerringly patient, she waited for the two of them to come to halt beside her, steel-blue eyes fixing upon Cinder with a look that didn’t tread south of professional neutrality.

Still, it put of flutter of nervousness in her gut.

“You said we would be safe for the time being?” Winter asked.

Cinder tried to straighten, glancing down toward Glynda’s feet. “I think. She could come back… Honestly, I don’t know.”

“She’s not getting closer,” Glynda said, the wheeze in her voice putting her exhaustion on full display. “It feels like she’s not going far. Just moving erratically.”

Winter gave a sharp nod. “Then, I think we should prioritize your recovery, Glynda. I know I offered you a cabin earlier, but I believe it’s safe to say you didn’t get much use from it.”

Glynda made a noise of agreement: _you could say that_.

Winter was right. Glynda looked as though she was ready to drop at any moment, never mind the state of her clothes and the new scars carved in white across her flesh. However, Cinder felt herself waver, unsure of where exactly that left her in the scheme of things. The last time Glynda had sought out a cabin and Cinder had joined Winter on the bridge, the silence had crept over Cinder’s skin like thousands of needles.

As if thinking the same thing, Winter turned her gaze on Cinder once more. “If you’d like to join her, the same is available.”

It should have come as a distinct relief. Somehow, it didn’t quite manage it. Cinder gave a terse nod of acknowledgement in lieu of words.

“Will you be alright?” Glynda asked, and Cinder was thankful she didn’t have to be the one to fill what felt like dead air.

Though there were dark shadows beneath Winter’s eyes, she gave Glynda a small smile. “Of the three of us, I think my last 36 hours have been easiest. I could stand to stay up a while longer. If no one has any better ideas, I’m going to set a course for the opposite direction of that dragon and keep us on the move.”

“Not towards Beacon,” Glynda hurried to say.

“Of course,” Winter said. “I think cruising far to the west of Beacon would be our best bet.”

When Glynda didn’t say anything else, there was a pause for Cinder to chime in. Uncertainty held her tongue, and in the lapse of silence, Winter nodded toward the cabins they’d seen upon first arriving and then turned towards the bridge.

“Let me know if there’s anything you need in the meantime,” she said as she went, her heels clicking with each step. Cinder watched her back, the immutable set of her shoulders. “This ship has been well stocked for a variety of emergencies.”

Alone, Cinder and Glynda exchanged looks.

“I’d settle for a bed,” Glynda said, cracking a weary smile.

“A comfortable bed,” Cinder returned finally, pushing everything else out of her mind to focus on the present. At least for now.

“Has anyone ever told you your standards are too high?”

Cinder gave a huff as they began towards the first of the doors lining the corridor. “Has anyone ever told you your sass isn’t appreciated?”

“Maybe,” Glynda responded, though by the way her eyes were glazing as they approached the finish line, Cinder figured she wasn’t going to be offering any more of a response than that.

When they got inside, it took every ounce of Cinder’s strength to hold Glynda back from simply collapsing into the bed. Even if sleep was more important than a shower right now, anything she touched in her current state would be stained with blood and ash. Glynda didn’t resist as Cinder worked her out of her clothes, but by the time she was down to her underwear, she’d deflated so much that Cinder couldn’t keep her upright any longer.

Like a tree falling, Glynda crashed into the bed with little regard for anything else, the mattress squeaking beneath her weight. The thick, wool blanket made with crisp corners tugged out of place.

“At least get under the covers,” Cinder mumbled, looking down at the bundle of tattered clothes in her hands. Most airships had laundry facilities onboard, and from what Winter said about this one being stocked for almost anything, she figured it would be no different. The stains could be dealt with easily, but jagged lines ripped through the fabric, torn by her mother’s claws.

“I’ll be right back.”

There were two adjoining doors within the room. One Cinder found led to a compact bathroom. The other was a space just wide enough to house a squat combination washer and dryer.

Tossing Glynda’s shirt and bra in, Cinder applied liberal amounts of bleach and set aside her cape and pants for later. Her own clothes too, would need to be done separately, but they were in much better shape, and she could stand to wait until Glynda’s had finished.

Starting up the machine, she returned to the first room, seeing that although Glynda hadn’t responded, she’d obeyed, body tucked beneath the sheets. Her eyes were already closed, breathing steady.

It took Cinder about two seconds to work out what was next. She slipped out of her shoes and kicked off her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Lifting the sheets, she climbed in next to Glynda. Unlike the bed in Corinth, this one was small, barely able to comfortably fit one of them. Unlike in Corinth, Cinder didn’t have any reservations about pressing flush against Glynda’s front.

Maybe Glynda was right about the bed not needing to be comfortable. Even despite the scratchy sheets and the hard mattress, the mere presence of a horizontal surface beneath her teased out all the fatigue she’d been keeping at bay. Cinder’s limbs grew heavy as chains, and she scooted into the crook of Glynda’s neck. An arm fell across her hip, a clear sign of welcome even if Glynda had yet to open her eyes.

With her body responding so soundly to a chance to rest, Cinder closed her eyes, eager to recover from the last day and a half.

Instead, she saw her mother, form evaporating into flames as she grew and grew and grew.

In her dragon form, her teeth were sharp, her eyes were molten, and even Cinder cowered before her. A scream of anguish tore through Cinder’s mind, a perfect mirror of the one Lamia had given when she was finally faced with Cinder’s betrayal. Had she chosen to do so, she could have carved Cinder to pieces with a butcher’s precision, Glynda falling soon after.

Pulse skyrocketing, Cinder blinked, trying to banish the thought and the image. Her breathing picked up. She tried again, urging herself to be calm.

Another scenario played through her mind: this time Lamia ripping them to shreds with her bare hands, not even bothering to take her dragon form. Her face was the picture of sorrow even with her fingers slicked red in human blood.

Every time Cinder closed her eyes, her mind refused to shut off, anxiety gnawing at her bones. She shifted beneath the covers, knees brushing Glynda’s, but with each attempt at sleep she only felt herself waking up more. A restless energy kept her from succumbing to the needs of her body, glutted on the fears spiralling through her mind over and over again.

The next time she closed her eyes, her thoughts again eagerly filled the silence, offering up the image of her mother on her knees, tears in her eyes and elation glowing from her skin.

After that, she stopped trying.

The sunlight slanting through the drawn blinds grew wane as the time ticked by, Cinder growing more miserable by the minute. Glynda’s presence was a steadying one, but even so, left to the mercy of her own emotions, she found the farthest thing from rest.

Neatly tucked beneath her chin, Cinder was left with nothing to do but stare at Glynda’s throat and chest, given an unparalleled view of the new scars she sported. The pale lines that cut across her flesh were as wide as her arm in some places, a vivid reminder of injuries that would have killed her had it not been for her Witch soul.

Cinder’s stomach turned, and she lightly traced the one running diagonal from Glynda’s right collarbone to her left armpit, the skin unnaturally smooth beneath her touch.

“Hm?”

The question was barely there, just a breath exhaled too sharply against the crown of Cinder’s head, but from the way Glynda’s fingers twitched over Cinder’s hip, she had a good feeling she hadn’t imagined it.

“Sorry,” Cinder murmured quietly. She pulled her hand away and slipped it around Glynda instead. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Glynda didn’t seem to mind, accepting the press of Cinder’s skin against her own with a soft sigh. Her hand dropped over Cinder’s back, fingers making small circles over the notches of her spine. Despite this, her voice came clearly: “I wasn’t asleep.”

_That makes two of us._

“You can stay remarkably still then,” Cinder said, closing her eyes and pressing her nose to the curve of Glynda’s shoulder. The scent of sulfur and death clung to her skin, a phantom reminder that would not be easily exorcised. She supposed she smelled the same, but even with the restlessness in her blood, a shower felt beyond her right now. “How do you feel?”

A pause. “Better.”

But not enough to sleep.

Cinder didn’t miss the subtle hitch in the slow patterns being drawn across her back. With a soft exhale, she pushed herself up, careful not to accidentally bump Glynda’s chin.

Propped up on her elbow, she looked down at Glynda, taking in the curls of blonde hair splayed across the pillow, the flecks of soot which still clung to her skin, the weary eyes staring back up at her. Glynda laid completely limp, undisturbed by Cinder’s attention, the way her golden eyes surveyed what she could see of her face and chest.

New scars everywhere she looked.

Her guts clenched again, and she was unable to stop herself from running the pad of her thumb across one which cut a line down almost from Glynda’s temple to the corner of her mouth.

Glynda seemed to understand the train of thought even without Cinder’s saying anything. Her voice was a whisper laced with vulnerability: “I keep thinking she’s going to come back.”

Unable to completely smother her wince, Cinder asked, “You’d feel it, though—wouldn’t you?”

She nodded, though from the look in her eyes, Cinder could tell this was no cause for relief. They both knew very well that if Lamia decided to return, there wouldn’t be a thing they could do to get out of dodge fast enough, even with the advanced notice.

The promise that things would be okay stuck in Cinder’s throat, refusing to leave her mouth.

Rather than trying to force the empty words out, Cinder cupped her cheek, the reminders cut into Glynda’s face stirring up every cycling, terrified _what if_. “Do you remember? Any of it?”

Glynda blinked slowly. “I remember leaving you behind.”

“Is that all?”

“I remember starting to lose.” Glynda closed her eyes and turned into the touch, her mouth pinching. “The next thing I remember is sitting with you and Winter.”

It was almost a relief to hear it. Though Cinder had not been present to see the fight, the proof of it upon Glynda’s flesh told enough of a tale: it had been brutal and bloody.

Glynda must have been thinking the same thing, a wrinkle of discomfort flashing across her expression like a reflex. Trying to imagine what it felt like to awaken in a broken body, without the memories to explain it, had Cinder making the same expression as her mind jumped to fill in the blanks, finding each option more horrifying than the last.

“We should stop talking about her,” Cinder said. “At least for now.”

This wasn’t the end of things, she was sure. Cinder didn’t know what the future held, but clear skies was definitely not on the list of possibilities. Eventually, something was bound to give, and Cinder could only hope it wouldn’t end with blood.

For now though: just a bit of peace. Glynda deserved that much.

Glynda agreed. She nodded solemnly and gave an attempt at a smile—a bad one. Cinder’s lips pinched, and she leaned in, her black hair cascading over her shoulder to pool in curls of blonde. Her forehead touched Glynda’s, the air between them shared. The feel of her breath on her lips burned through Cinder like a hearth’s flame.

Glynda was breathing. Glynda was warm. Glynda was alive.

The silence when they parted was one Cinder knew well. Hardly blinking, Glynda’s gaze was heavy with affection, the weight of it settling in Cinder’s chest. If nothing else, they were together now, each other’s anchors in the storm.

Glynda looked away first, her eyes drifting down Cinder’s neck. Honest amusement broadened her smile just a bit, and Cinder quirked a brow.

Lifting her hand from Cinder’s hip, Glynda reached for the jade earring dangling between Cinder’s breasts, her knuckles brushing against the skin there as she cradled it gingerly.

“There is this,” Glynda said.

There was something knowing in her expression, a flicker of smug satisfaction not at all diminished by the new scars. Cinder felt herself flush somewhat; she hadn’t even thought to take off the necklace when she dropped her clothes to the ground. She had grown accustomed to never parting with it. It and her underwear were the only things to adorn her skin, and Glynda had taken notice—of _course_ she had.

“What about it?” Cinder challenged, a note of defensiveness making it into her voice.

Glynda propped herself up on her elbow as well, looking more pleased by the second. “I didn’t know you still _had_ this.”

Cinder huffed, glancing away. “I wasn’t exactly keen on advertising it after… Well, I couldn’t just throw it away. I got it from you—”

“That almost sounded sentimental, Cinder.”

“—And I _definitely_ wasn’t going to give it back.”

In response to face Cinder was making, Glynda gave a genuine snort of laughter and gently tugged on the necklace, the chain pulling taut.

Cinder resisted, giving a huff. “What was that? _A laugh_?”

Glynda inched closer, smiling. “It was.”

Cinder turned her face away. “No wonder you rarely laugh. I can’t believe Glynda Goodwitch _snorts_.”

“I have a few choice things I could say about Cinder Fall and how much she cares about people,” Glynda shot back.

“ _Certain_ people,” Cinder bit. “Certain people with no sense of self-preservation.”

Glynda hummed a note of approval and closed the gap between them. With Cinder turned away like she was, Glynda’s lips could only find her cheek, but the brush of them had her baring her teeth in something of a snarl.

“ _Stop it_ ,” she hissed, determined to stay defiant, but Glynda only pressed another a little higher on her cheek.

Cinder could feel Glynda’s lips quirking against her skin. “No.”

A fourth kiss was all Cinder could take, grabbing Glynda’s wrist and turning back to fix her with her best glare—one which dissolved the moment Glynda’s mouth found hers.

It was gentle, somehow more tender than the ones they’d shared before, the two of them skin to skin, breast to breast. It was a promise, the same Cinder had been unable to say before: _it was going to be alright_.

Vocalized, Cinder knew it would have fallen apart. Now, hope sparked within her.

When Glynda backed off, Cinder didn’t let her go far, squeezing her wrist close to her own chest. She didn’t have the words to convey her feelings, but Glynda understood nonetheless, nodding.

“Lay down with me,” Glynda said.

“Okay.”

Together, they laid down, Cinder pulling the sheets up to their shoulders. They stayed face to face, their foreheads almost brushing, legs still intertwined. Glynda smiled, achingly fond, and Cinder returned it.

When Glynda closed her eyes, she didn’t just go still—she actually looked _peaceful_. Even with the battle scars.

Cinder felt her heart give a flutter, and closed her eyes as well. Glynda’s hand was pressed to her chest, Cinder’s to Glynda’s, the beat of their hearts a constant reminder: _they were alive, they were together, it was going to be okay._

This time, no visions of her mother came. This time, she could sleep.

*

Glynda turned her hands over in front of her face. On her back on the bed, she examined the new scars criss-crossing her flesh. Each looked terrible and jagged, the sort of mark left when someone didn’t have Aura to heal with, or was forced to heal too quickly.

She could guess which one she had been.

It was surreal to see the damage when she had no memories to explain it. Like someone else had jumped inside her body and piloted it without her, only giving it back after having a wild night out.

 _Does fighting an ancient Grimm dragon count as a wild night?_ Glynda thought, dropping her hands by her side and staring up at the ceiling instead. Her heart gave a little lurch at the thought of Lamia, and she rolled over onto her side, legs pulling closer to her stomach. _Probably not. It was daytime anyway._

Unbidden, her senses reached out. Located the signature so large it couldn’t be anyone else. The sun had set, but there was still no mistaking the feel of Lamia: a constant, massive presence not at all belittled by the distance between them.

Glynda thought back, remembering a time when she hadn’t known Lamia even existed. The insistent scrape at the edge of her senses felt like a great sea lapping at her peripherals; back then, she’d thought it was just what being able to sense Grimm felt like. The Grimm that had come close enough were picked out against the backdrop of Lamia’s existence, but hers was a life Glynda had been aware of since she was born, even if she didn’t know it.

Now that she did, she would never be able to stop feeling her.

If anything, at least it meant Lamia would never be able to sneak up on them. Not that she’d need to. Glynda wrapped an arm around her knees. So far Lamia had kept a relatively constant distance between them, but Glynda had felt her circling, like she was trying to work up the nerve to return, to finish things.

The only thing that stopped her was Cinder.

Gaze lifting from the bunched sheets to the bathroom door, Glynda observed the steam seeping out from beneath the crack. Though she couldn’t remember it, Cinder had made it clear: she had intervened, yet again, to stop the fight.

 _If she hadn't, I’d be dead._ Glynda let out a sigh and rolled back onto her back, clutching her bare stomach, feeling the bumps of her new scars’ edges.

That was one of the only things she did remember: just how utterly outclassed she’d been. Cinder had told her over and over again how powerful the Witch soul was, but against Lamia, not even that stood a chance.

The fear was still fresh. Glynda took a shuddering breath.

From the bathroom came the sound of the water cutting off. Glynda lifted her head from the mattress for a moment, listening as Cinder opened the shower door and stepped out. There was some shuffling, a few long moments of silence, and then a click of the doorknob being turned.

Cinder emerged in a cloud of hot air, the humidity hitting Glynda’s bare skin, making the hair on her arms stand on end. Unlike Glynda’s, Cinder’s clothes were almost presentable, so she’d slipped back into her jeans and the sleeveless turtleneck worn beneath her coat. Ash covered the knees and shins from when she’d sat with Glynda, but other than that, the only thing that needed a good wash was her blood-stained coat.

Propping herself up on her elbow, Glynda met Cinder’s questioning gaze.

Cinder flipped her still damp hair over one shoulder to complete her usual look, closed the door behind her, and approached the bed. “What?”

Glynda blinked. “You took forever.”

Cinder scoffed, flicking moisture from her hair off her fingertips. She rebuked: “I said you could go first. You wouldn’t get up.”

That was true, but then, the world had seemed much smaller beneath the sheets with Cinder.

Cinder dropped onto the end of the bed, where she’d laid out Glynda’s freshly cleaned shirt before getting in the shower. According to her, both her jacket and Glynda’s pants were in the wash now. The stains were the least of their worries, though, given the dark fabric of both garments. The extensive tearing to all of Glynda's clothes were the main cause of Cinder’s displeased look.

Cinder ran her fingers along the fraying edges of a long gash in one of the sleeves. Golden eyes flickered back to Glynda, finding the corresponding scar.

Sitting up, Glynda scooted closer to the end of the bed.

“...I can probably fix this for you. _Stocked for anything_ probably means a needle and thread somewhere.” Cinder parted the fabric and stuck her hand out through the hole from inside, squinting down at the damage with clear distaste. “But it won’t be perfect.”

“You sew?” Glynda asked.

Cinder merely continued to turn the shirt over in her hands. “Well, yes. It was a useful skill when there was no one to fix my clothes and I couldn't afford to be buying new ones all the time. Not as helpful when I accidentally burned them, though. Besides, who did you think sewed that dust into my outfits?”

“I figured you had some criminal connection for that.” Glynda shrugged, thankful Cinder was entertaining this line of conversation. It made ignoring the dark cloud hanging over both of them easier. Keeping a note of good-natured humor in her voice, she added: “I’m just saying, no one imagines Cinder Fall wrapped up in something as domestic as sewing.”

That struck a nerve. “Yes, _well_ . Maybe if you didn’t ruin the only pair of clothes you have, I wouldn’t _have_ to. As it is, this isn’t going to be pretty, but I suppose it’s better than dressing you in a sheet.”

Glynda leaned a little closer, nudging her shoulder. “What would the public think? If they knew you were carefully mending your girlfriend’s clothes?”

The look Glynda was expecting when Cinder’s head snapped up was one of menace. Instead, the one she received was full of surprise, Cinder’s hands fisting in the tattered fabric of the shirt.

Glynda’s teasing smile faltered. “What?”

Cinder opened her mouth and then closed it, looking away and staring hard down at the shirt.

“Are we… Not girlfriends?”

“What? No!”

“Oh.”

Inhaling sharply, Cinder quickly amended, “No, I mean—that’s not right.”

“Oh. So we _are_?”

Cinder buried her face in her hand, making a vague sound of frustration.

Glynda watched her. Helpfully, she pointed out, “I mean, I’ve seen you mostly naked.”

Another groan, this time with more enthusiasm. “ _Yes, Glynda_.”

“So then we are?”

“Glynda, that’s _not_ the determinant factor of this.”

“Ah.” Glynda made a face. “I’ve never had a girlfriend. Or any other relationship like that. I guess I’m not sure what... makes it so.”

This time it was Cinder’s turn to look confused. “What? Not a single one? Not even a crush?”

A tad self-conscious, Glynda gave her best ambivalent shrug, a dusting of color rising to her cheeks. “I don’t remember feeling much of _anything_ when I was younger. Plus, I think I scared a lot of my classmates. I was really good at some things, and I guess… Well, looking back, I was very much a Witch, without even noticing.”

When Cinder didn’t respond, Glynda felt the silence constrict around her. Thinning her lips, she waited a moment, hoping Cinder would say something, and when she didn’t, Glynda found herself filling the empty air herself.

“Ozpin wanted to help. He must have known I was a Witch right away, I think. But, most likely, that only served to drive people farther away. The special treatment, you know? Being the headmaster’s ‘favorite’—it's unusual, to say the least. I don’t remember minding it much. By the time I grew up, I was used to it. Always working alone. I didn’t have a team after graduating. No one could keep up with me. But I had Oz. And I had my job.”

The weight of Cinder leaning against her pulled Glynda’s gaze away from her hands. Cinder touched her arm gently, the warmth of her palm comforting. She still didn’t say anything—probably didn’t know what to say, Glynda didn't blame her—but she was there.

Looking back, there was a distinctive hollow feel to her life. It wasn’t the lack of romance. It was the lack of everything. For decades now, Glynda had devoted herself to a job, but not because she’d loved it. It felt like it was right for her, but she supposed that might have been purely thanks to her soul’s inclinations, given what she now knew about Witches. She remembered how unnerved she’d been when she’d been told she was going after Cinder Fall. Giving up protecting Beacon… That was like giving up one of only two facets in her life. It was giving up half of herself.

But then, the minute she’d found she could devote herself to something else, she’d done it whole-heartedly, throwing everything she had into the chase.

It hadn’t changed until Cinder had told her who she was. After that… It was strange. Even though she’d been hurt along the way, travelling with Cinder—it had made her feel. It made her cognizant of the things she hadn’t had before. It let her experience what _feeling_ was like, good and bad.

“You know, I would still be living like that if I hadn’t come after you,” Glynda said, the words from her own mouth a confirmation. “I would have still be living as an empty shell, without even knowing anything was wrong. The Witch void would have just…continued to be a part of my life. Normal. Until it killed me.”

Even now, the thought of going back to that life… She would survive, yes, but _surviving_ would be all it was. One step in front of the other; not due to any zest for life, but rather because she knew that was what she should be doing. Because even though she had no attachment to her own life, dying was not her duty. And duty was the only thing that mattered.

It was a grim thought.

“I mean, the impending apocalypse is pretty bad too,” Glynda added after a moment. “But, you know…”

Cinder’s fingers twitched on Glynda’s arm. Glynda already knew what to expect when she looked up, but seeing Cinder’s disbelief simmer into a look of exhausted acceptance was enough to bring a small smile to her face.

With a roll of her eyes, Cinder huffed, “Who taught you to joke like that? Surely not _Ozpin_.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure this is new too.”

Jokes were never her forte before. She wasn’t sure if Cinder’s reaction was cause to think that had changed. Still, that itself was enough to make her laugh.

Dropping her head onto Glynda’s bare shoulder, Cinder grumbled, “Don’t you dare blame that on _me_.”

“I think you’re the cause of a lot of this,” Glynda said. “Not just the romance… But. You know. Everything. Good and bad.”

Cinder made a sound of agreement, but like this, Glynda couldn’t see her expression. If Glynda was right, that was probably the intention. Against her shoulder, she could feel Cinder working her jaw as if trying to force something out.

Finally, she said, “Yes, well.... I’m glad you came after me. I’m glad you know it—the Witch void—isn’t normal.”

“Yeah,” Glynda said. “Me too.”

Sitting there with Cinder made Glynda want to climb back beneath the covers, tuck away into bed and hide where no one would come looking for them. Maybe it wouldn’t solve any of their troubles, but the time they had spent holding each other had been the first time Glynda’s troubles had felt distant and insignificant.

But Glynda knew it wasn’t to be. It couldn't last.

Cinder let out a sigh, gently disengaging from Glynda to rise to her feet. Glynda could tell she had followed the same line of thought.

“We should get moving,” Cinder said, looking down at the shirt in her hands. “We have a lot to do. I could try to fix this up while you’re in the shower.”

Glynda nodded. “I also want to call Oz. Ironwood said he was okay, but…”

“Yeah,” Cinder said, not looking back. “I have a few things I want to do too.”

Glynda didn’t question it. After all, Cinder had people she cared about too.

Cinder moved towards the door, and Glynda watched her back with tinges of yearning, knowing that the minute she stepped outside, the reality of their situation would come crashing down over them both. Before she could slip out into the corridor outside, Glynda said, “Hey. I never answered your question.”

Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, Cinder cocked her head over her shoulder, raising a brow.

“About dating. I did have a crush one time, now that I think about it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You know Lisa Lavender?”

A pause. “The news reporter?”

Glynda nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. I saved her one time when her crew was too close to the scene of a Grimm attack. I felt really weird afterwards. Looking back, I think I might have had a crush on her.”

Cinder made a dry noise in the back of her throat. “Glynda, I’m concerned about what you’re implying you feel for me.”

“I mean... Okay, that dinner we had one time? That was a date, right? That was weird.”

“ _You_ made that weird, Glynda. I was trying to have a perfectly nice—”

Glynda didn’t let her finish. “No, that was weird.”

Cinder had the gall to look offended, her mouth tightening into a line as she met Glynda’s gaze. It lasted for only a moment before they both began to smile, Cinder turning away to shake her head while Glynda gave a content hum.

“Okay, well,” Cinder said, pulling open the door. “I’ll take you somewhere nice after all this.”

So they _were_ dating.

“No more deserts,” Glynda called after her.

Through the crack in the door right before it shut, Cinder responded, “We’ll talk about it.”

Left alone, Glynda glanced at the shower, knowing that she needed to get going. Cinder was right. They had the night, but the day brought uncertainty, and at the very least, they needed to know what they were going to do from here on out. But she still didn’t feel ready to start, cool dread collecting in her chest at just the thought.

Her eyes drifted elsewhere, eventually landing on the small pouch which usually rested at the small of her back. It had fared better than the rest of her, so Cinder had probably not seen the need to wash it.

Rising, she lifted it from the ground and unzipped it, rummaging to find her Scroll at the bottom. She didn’t have any qualms about crawling right back into bed, dialing the number she knew by heart.

It rang twice before connecting.

“Oz?”

“Glynda,” he greeted, voice thin but warm. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

Even with Ironwood’s promise of his health, actually hearing Ozpin’s voice set Glynda’s heart soaring. Unable to contain a full smile, her eyes wrinkling with joy, she laid down and turned on her side. Glynda pulled up her legs, hugging them with one arm while she held the phone with the other. “You too, Oz. Really good.”

“Winter sent ahead a report. You’re okay?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“I wasn’t sure for a while, but Vi continues to surprise me, even to this day. I’ll be just fine.” He gave a whispy laugh. “I suppose you have some things to tell me?”

She nodded even though he couldn’t see her. “A lot.”

“Take your time. I’ll listen.”

*

Finding the materials she needed was surprisingly easy, and once Cinder was sitting down with needle and thread, the actual stitching took less time than she’d expected.

The monotonous task put her mind in a comfortable lull, focused only on her fingers, on the needle ducking through the fabric. Repetitive stitches made a solid seam, and she tied it off, cut the thread, and started over on a new tear. It was soothing, mind-numbing labor, performing the same patterns again and again until the damage was repaired.

Not seamlessly—pun aside, the work was easily visible; irreparable wounds merely closed, far from healed.

When she felt herself stray too far towards unpleasant thoughts, she thought about Glynda’s pants—decided she could live with scuffed knees and ragged cuffs. She wondered if the cabin’s tiny cupboard of a laundry room had an ironing board where she could press her seams. She wondered if Glynda would even care about those finishing touches—probably not, but Cinder had already decided she had no clothing sense and should be disregarded. She chuckled to herself.  

Finally, all the tears were closed, held together firmly by meticulous stitches. She shook the shirt out and held it up in front of herself, assessing her work.

Like she’d told Glynda, it wasn’t the prettiest job, but Glynda wasn’t in a position to be picky.

When Cinder returned to the room, she found Glynda in almost the same position she’d left her in. The only difference was the affection which radiated from her, body loose and relaxed, a phone held to her ear. She spoke in soft tones, only glancing up briefly when Cinder poked her head in.

Glynda waved, but Cinder excused herself quickly, setting the shirt on a dresser by the door so as not to disturb her.

She looked like she still hadn’t even showered, but Cinder didn’t have the heart to hurry her. Besides, if Glynda was busy with that, it would be some time before she emerged from the cabin.

 _Good_ , Cinder thought. _I’ve still got time._

It wasn’t a comforting thought. Instead, it wrapped around her chest like brambles. Before, they had only pricked at her on occasion, easily put out of mind. Now, they tightened around her like a constrictor.

Approaching the ship’s helm—the source of the reluctant, pricking thorns—was against her instincts, but she took a steadying breath and tried to sort out her thoughts. Neither helped, and she found all too quickly that she had arrived before she was ready.

Not that she thought she’d ever feel _ready_.

Winter was waiting for her there when the doors parted to allow her access.

Steel-blue eyes found her the moment the bridge’s doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, and for a moment, Cinder didn’t move. Her own eyes flickered down, but then the weight of Winter’s attention shifted away, and Cinder heard her chair whine softly as she turned back to the fore of the room.

When the doors closed behind her, Cinder found it within herself to step forward, her gaze rising to the holographic projection that had been pulled up in front of the captain’s platform. Various news feeds were open on the screen, each displaying a different but strikingly similar scene.

Destruction. Death. Fire.

Though apparently muted, live feeds of what had to be at least four different settlements showed what Cinder’s betrayal had wrought. Scrolling across the bottom of one of the feeds, she read: _DRAGON GRIMM ATTACKS NORTHERN VALE—CIVILIANS ADVISED TO SEEK SHELTER—DEATH TOLL ESTIMATED UPWARDS OF 800_.

Emergency numbers and casualty collection point locations rolled by as well, but Cinder had stopped seeing them. Instead, her eyes were drawn to the horizon, where crimson bled into the violet sky.

An inferno. If she was outside, Cinder suspected she’d be able to smell the acrid smoke even from this distance.

Vale was burning.

Even as Lamia had fled from her, Cinder had known it couldn’t be the end to her mother’s limitless wrath. She would spend the night howling at the moon, anguish chipping away at her body until she was forced into a smaller shape, curled close to the ground with swarms of Grimm pressing to her side. Her sorrow and anger would mix like a deathly poison, and when the sun rose, Lamia would as well, expending the venom upon anything she could.

Even if she couldn’t have the Witch, humanity would be purged through flame before her mother would rest.

Emerald and Mercury’s faces swam before Cinder’s eyes, and also…

Glancing up to where Winter commanded the room, Cinder felt her stomach turn. Unbidden, the memory returned: Winter kneeling beside her for hours with the vow of _whatever you need_.

It was among the multitude of things Cinder wished she could forget about today. And like the others, it burrowed deep into her skull, refusing to be expunged.

The bridge was a surprisingly well fitted room considering the only people who appeared to be on board were the three of them. Panels lined the room’s rounded front, the ceiling sloping overhead to give the ship a more aerodynamic shape. Almost the entirety of the ceiling and walls were panes of glass, the horizon burning in the distance.

Cinder looked away from that and the screen humming with updates, starting towards the slightly elevated platform which offered the captain a perfect view of where the crew would normally be.

Though it was only three short steps to be level with Winter, Cinder hesitated at taking the first.

“Have you and Glynda recovered?”

Despite surely having been awake for at least as long as Glynda and Cinder had, Winter’s voice was steady, her posture impeccable. From where Cinder stood, she couldn’t see the expression she was making, but she did notice Winter had a smaller screen pulled up in front of her, fingers working over a keyboard to type up what was surely a report. By her right hand, a cup of coffee sat steaming.

Cinder cleared her throat, not missing the way Winter hadn’t deigned to even pause in her work when addressing her. “Yes… Glynda should be along shortly.”

Winter paused, but instead of turning to look her way, she merely lifted her cup to her lips and took a quick sip, returning to her work immediately afterwards. “We’ll need to discuss a strategy when she arrives. At this rate, Vale will be ash before the week is up.”

On the feeds before them, footage of an attack showed red wings spread wide to eclipse the sun.

Cinder crossed her arms and continued loitering at the base of the stairs, canting her head away to find a point to stare at on the panels to her side. Winter could have given even Glynda a run for her money in weaponized indifference. It had been the last thing Cinder had expected from her, but then, Winter sported new ribbons on her chest and new ranks on her collar.

A lot had changed.

“It’s night now. We won’t have to worry about more attacks until tomorrow.”

Winter gave a clipped noise of acknowledgement. “General Ironwood sent a detailed report regarding the siege on Beacon. He mentioned there had been a temporary reprieve which had lasted from dusk until dawn. I had speculated.”

Earlier, Winter’s eyes had gone wide. She had repeated Glynda’s words with sheer disbelief, her hard gaze sharpening with surprise as it swung between she and Cinder: _mother_?

Now she didn’t even mention it, though she had to have seen at least a portion of the interactions between them as she was approaching to land the ship. Maybe Cinder shouldn’t have been surprised—Winter always had done a great deal more _speculating_ than she had asking.

It had made things easier when Cinder had still been able to convince herself she was a beast walking among men. Now she knew otherwise and was chewing her lip raw with the hope Winter would pose a question, to prompt her to explain.

Instead, Winter simply continued her report.

The air between them grew thick and stagnant.

“Was there something else you needed?”

Usually, that kind of question would invite conversation, but on Winter’s lips it sounded like the gravedigger’s spade breaking new earth, a preparation to bury anything more than a single-word answer.

A familiar reluctance rose into Cinder’s throat, strangling all answers save the one that would allow her to turn around and leave right that moment: _no_.

It would have been easier, but then, lying was what had put her into this position in the first place, wasn’t it?

“Yes,” she said, and soft clack of Winter’s typing stopped abruptly, like she hadn’t in all the world expected Cinder to say that. “...Thank you… For staying with us earlier.”

Cinder still couldn’t see Winter’s expression, but her shoulders rose slightly as if inhaling deeply. “Glynda is my friend. And I have a mission to assist her in any way I can. You shouldn’t expect me to do otherwise, regardless of any personal history we share.”

_Personal history._

It could have been centuries ago, but the way Winter said the words suggested the embers had yet to cool. Even in the cold heart of Atlas, even with a year’s time.

“I know.”

Still, she didn’t move, Winter’s implied dismissal gnawing at her. Discomfort crawled across every inch of her, her face growing hot, stomach shrinking with the knowledge that she hadn’t made their severance a pleasant one. She had never planned to face the repercussions. Never planned to face Winter again.

Winter would have figured that out by now too, but unlike Cinder, she showed nothing but frustration when she turned in her seat. Steel-blue eyes fixed upon Cinder, and her back straightened just a bit beneath the scrutiny. She managed not to avert her gaze for more than a brief moment, watching as Winter’s expression gradually set.

Her lips pinched, eyes narrowed fractionally. It looked as though Winter considered her nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Cinder’s coat was still in the dryer, and her arms were bare, red sigils offering a soft warmth upon her flesh. Winter traced them with her eyes, taking in every bit of Cinder, surely pinpointing her every fault. The cracks in Cinder’s veneer had widened into great fissures, uncertainty and nervousness written out in her posture, her expression, her eyes.

Finally, Winter’s inspection ended upon the chip of jade hung from Cinder’s neck.

“Similarly, you shouldn’t expect anything from me outside of what the mission requires,” she said, her tone not changing a bit. “I don’t expect any different from you.”

“I know,” Cinder repeated, her words coming quicker. “But you understand, don’t you? Now that you’ve seen…”

A long pause.

“I suppose it explains a few things.” Winter was statuesque, exhaling sharply. If it had been meant to relieve the tension settling in her jaw and shoulders, it was in vain. “The horns, for one. I always thought you were a Faunus.”

The night Winter’s fingers had slipped through her short hair and brushed across the jut of her horns, it had been unusually cold, even for Atlas. That hadn’t stopped Cinder from pulling away swiftly, despite the frigid air that had rushed to fill the space between them, her heart hammering in her chest, eyes downcast. Winter had said nothing, her hand dropping to Cinder’s shoulder, but it had been unquestionable that even if she wasn’t willing to ask, she was already filling in the blanks.

 _Incorrectly,_ Cinder knew, but even so, they had parted later with more than a little of Atlas’ chill.

Unbidden, Cinder’s hand rose into her hairline, the brush of her fingertips over the protruding stumps of keratin and bone revealing new growth since she’d last shaved them down. They were far from visible, still short enough not to poke above her hair, but eventually…

“Yes.”

“But I don’t see the relevance,” Winter said, turning swiftly in her seat to return to her work, body fraught with such tension that were she made of metal, the gears and springs would have surely burst from place by now. “You made it very clear already that I don’t know a thing about you.”

The clack of keys urged Cinder to take the first step, the sound of her heel snapping against the chrome provoking a sharp look from Winter, severe enough to stop Cinder in her tracks.

The knots in Cinder’s gut tightened, but she stepped down once more, and after a lingering glare over her shoulder, Winter turned away.

Once, the distance between them had been one of Cinder’s own creation, their hands intertwined without Winter even noticing how distant they were. Now the illusion had dispersed, the gulf recognized by them both, and the lines were being drawn by Winter herself.

Before Cinder’s name had touched the tongue of any of Remnant’s most powerful, she had played a businesswoman, hoping to gain unrestricted access to Atlas’ ports, eyes set on the endless wastes to the north where her mother made her home. Winter had been no stranger to duty by then, but still held a position higher than her rank would imply, a liaison for the kind of people Cinder had been pretending to be.

And she had been good at it.

A hundred visits between them had been shared before Cinder had even managed to convince Winter that listening to her proposal was worth Atlas’ time, the weeks sliding by until it seemed like every day was spent in Winter’s company. And after a while, their meetings hadn’t even been restricted to just when the offices were open. More than once, the two of them had enjoyed informal rendezvous over coffee or lunch.

But no matter how frequently they saw each other, Winter never mixed business with pleasure. Even when she had stopped referring to Cinder as _Ms. Fall_ , her stance on Cinder’s request for free passage through Atlas without fear of searches didn’t change. It was a hard no.

At some point, Cinder had stopped trying almost entirely, finding other topics of more interest. She had been content to malinger, Emerald and Mercury complaining as the months ticked by with no progress.

And if there had been a point when it had seemed almost cozy to Cinder, the tenuous position of knowing Winter’s friends, of Winter knowing Emerald and Mercury, it had all evaporated into thin air when Hati found her. Their twilight meeting among the snow-frosted trees shattered the illusion Cinder had so carefully constructed for herself. All along, their relationship had been nothing but a pipe dream.

Hati had reminded her. Reminded her she was a Grimm, reminded her that her mother counted on her to be nothing but.

That night, three people infiltrated the base where Atlas security information was held, and that night, Cinder Fall had finally been brought to the attention of every general in Atlas. The footage of she, Emerald, and Mercury had been pasted on every wanted board across Remnant for the things they took.

Cinder had been left to assume Winter was the one who provided the names to match the photos.

Afterwards, Cinder had left Atlas. She hadn’t gotten the information she needed to pass through Atlas’ borders untouched, but she had found more than a few interesting avenues to explore, allowing her infamy to grow as she pursued each. And never once did she allow herself to even entertain the thoughts of what might have been or what Winter would think.

Cinder was, after all, not human. Simply a Grimm fit to human form, her plans laying all of humanity on the chopping block for the sake of her family.

Or so she’d thought.

“You knew more about me than most,” Cinder managed, wringing the words from her own recalcitrant throat. Even now, every inch of her screamed for escape, a part of her insisting endless oceans of silence would be preferable to this. “I couldn’t have told you. Even Emerald and Mercury didn’t know— _don’t know_ . Winter, they _still_ don't know.”

Winter wasn’t looking at her. She lifted her mug of coffee to her lips, though her other hand had dropped from the keyboard to her lap. Silence.

Cinder gave what could have been a wheeze. “I had to leave. Staying so long was never part of the plan, and my mother… Winter, I was…wrong. About everything. Even myself. But it was never your fault.”

The words tumbled out, a grand exposé into the things she’d felt crawling just beneath her skin since Winter had laid her hand on Cinder’s shoulder and returned her to herself in time to go after Glynda. Since she had kneeled beside her and offered her _anything_.

_Whatever you need._

It was guilt, a demon she’d avoided for so long simply by turning her eyes elsewhere. But now, with Winter right before her, there was nowhere to hide.

Winter’s shoulders rose with a deep inhale. She set aside her coffee.

“Cinder,” she said. “You didn’t have to tell Ochre’s family.”

_Ochre._

Cinder felt a lurch as her heart dropped from her chest into her stomach.

No words rushed to fill the gap here. Cinder hadn’t even thought about Ochre, not _once_ since she’d left him no more than charcoal, his name tape set aside, singe marks in the shape of her fingertips.

Even though she’d seen him plenty of times while with Winter, Cinder had forgotten him without a moment’s hesitation.

But Winter hadn’t.

“I sent someone you knew. I suggested him to be the one to tail you because I knew you’d recognize him and know he was from me. Before Glynda had ever been involved, I sent a good soldier to the frontlines to you as a message.” Winter’s voice wasn’t growing louder, but each syllable was ground out with excruciating precision. “When I sent someone to offer you a second chance, you butchered him in the streets. You strung him up like you were proud of your work. I had to tell his family his funeral had to be a closed casket.”

Cinder’s mouth was cotton, full of nothing. Her heartbeat pounded hard in her ears.

Fumbling for anything, she tried: “I had to. He was… He was getting too close.”

Two months into his tailing her, Ochre had grown bolder, following her more closely, daring further. It hadn’t been enough to overlook his attempts, not when he was one step behind her at every turn. Even Cinder had started losing track of just how much she could say, when he flitted closer each day, a moth to the flame.

And even then, it had taken her too long to decide. He never tried to engage her, but stuck like thorns in her side, not easily forgotten. The brambles tightened around her ribcage, and every one of them was a bloody reminder—Winter was offering her a chance at redemption.

She flirted with empathy until it had occurred to her all at once: if she was going to go through with her mother’s plan, she couldn’t _afford_ mercy.

When she’d struck him down, it had been a clean kill. But afterwards, with Winter’s face burned into her mind as an image she just couldn’t banish, it had been a fit of fury that bid the flames rise higher, a stubborn declaration: Winter didn’t _know_ her. Cinder didn’t _want_ Winter’s deliverance.

Cinder had slipped on her shoes again after she’d burned Ochre’s body black, filled with the knowledge that she wouldn’t balk, not for Winter, not for anyone. Leaving the body behind had been intentional, as much a message to Winter as a confirmation to herself.

“I got your message, Cinder.” Winter turned, and Cinder flinched away instinctively, expecting raw hatred. Instead, she found an ugly mixture of guilt and self-loathing playing out across thinned lips, narrowed eyes. “ _Give it up. You don’t know me._ I had a good man killed chasing someone I didn’t even know. A _phantom_.”

Cinder could say nothing, but neither could she look away as Winter rose to her feet slowly.

She was taller than Cinder even without the extra height of the three steps between them, but now, standing at the top with Cinder below, she towered over her. Winter’s brow knitted together with barely withheld emotion.

“I’m not interested in why you left,” Winter said. Her hands were tight fists by her side. “Did you know I sent him?”

Cinder’s throat constricted. “Yes.”

“And even so.”

_Without a second thought to his life._

Cinder found her gaze being drawn to the news feeds still running live behind Winter, somehow an easier sight. Fire burned, destroying anything and everything in its way, but Cinder didn’t feel even a stirring of compassion, not for the people who had been caught in its wake.

“I don’t—” Cinder’s voice died in her throat, so she swallowed and tried again. “I _can’t_ care about humans. I’ve never been able to afford to. There are a few… Very few… But I'm—I wasn't meant to…”

Wariness had warped to fear when Cinder had left her mother’s side to begin her work amongst humans. With her mother’s stories tucked in her chest and a decade of avoidance trained into her bones, she had been an outsider from the beginning, her horns only marking her further for human cruelty.

She wasn’t one of them, and terror bloomed in her for the creatures which were not like her.

It was only after she began to grow that it changed, her fear morphing into something haughtier, a callous detachment from human life filling every fiber of her being. She became indifferently cruel.

She was _above_ them. A harbinger to the Grimm’s revolution. Hers was the hand which would bring salvation to her kin.

If humans died, what did it matter?

Even recently, when all of Corinth could have died for the chance to escape, Cinder’s thoughts had been only of Glynda, Emerald, and Mercury. If it had taken a thousand deaths to preserve theirs, she wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

Glynda—ruthless, determined Glynda—had refused to even consider it.

“He wasn’t you,” Cinder said. “I didn’t care about him.”

A ripple of surprise erupted across Winter’s face, and even she wasn’t able to smother it down fast enough. “If I had followed you instead, it would have been different?”

She’d told herself it wouldn’t have been. When she’d burned Ochre, she told herself that no matter who it was, she wouldn’t put them above her mother or the thousands of Grimm who suffered.

She’d been wrong.

Cinder’s hand rose to her ribs, recalling the feeling of being backed into a corner. When her mother and Glynda had clashed, she’d been unable to let Glynda die, unable to let her mother crush her between her claws. It had cost her everything she had toiled for to intervene, but she’d still done it.

There was nothing Cinder guarded closer than the ones she loved.

Cinder’s voice was unwavering. “Yes.”

Winter didn’t respond immediately. Then, she cleared her throat. “You wouldn’t have killed me.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“I suppose you’re implying you still care for me.”

Cinder nodded, unable to work out the words or the admission, that even now...

Had Winter been in Corinth, Cinder wouldn’t have offered it so willingly.

“Not enough to care what his death would mean.” Winter’s eyes flashed with sorrow, a note of finality in her tone. “Let me guess: out of sight, out of mind?”

_Yes._

Putting her problems out of mind, telling herself there was nothing there at all… Cinder had done it all her life, making herself untouchable, a wall of stone in the face of things that would otherwise cause her to stumble.

It had been the promise she’d made to herself over and over again: _she didn’t care_.

When she didn’t reply, Winter made a noise of understanding and turned around.

Cinder caught herself before she tried to follow, remembering what had happened the last time she had. Instead, she forced herself to watch as Winter stopped behind her chair, hands coming to rest on its back.

“When I spoke to her about him, Glynda speculated you knew from the start that Ochre was following you. I had always wondered why it took so long for you to discover him, when the others sent to investigate you fell so quickly. I thought he was simply more careful.” Winter took a deep breath. “I’m not grateful you told me.”

 _Whatever you need._ Promised without an ounce of reservation, without an ounce of hatred.

The thought occurred to Cinder: perhaps she wasn’t the only one who had struggled to put their past behind her.

“I’m sorry,” Cinder said. It sounded useless, even to her own ears.

Leather creaked as Winter’s fingers dug into the back of the chair, but when she opened her mouth to speak, the hiss of the doors opening stole all the words from her tongue. The two of them jerked to attention as Glynda entered, hair wet but still curling faintly over her shoulders. She was tugging at her sleeves, but looked better than she had before.

“Hey,” Glynda said, stopping short at the scene before her. “Um?”

Cinder’s throat felt dry, her eyes flickering up to Winter and then back to Glynda.

For a moment, no one spoke.

“It’s good to see you awake and…yourself,” Winter said tonelessly, smoothly sliding back into her chair and turning to look at them both. By the time she was seated, there wasn’t a trace of turmoil on her tired face, the rings beneath her eyes dark, her smile just convincing enough. Just like every time before, there wasn’t a single ragged edge to her. “Though, your clothes…”

Glynda glanced down at herself, tracing one of the many puckered lines which had once been a vicious tear in the fabric. “Oh, right. Cinder sewed it up, but… Well, I feel a little bit like Frankenstein.”

Despite the prodding smile aimed her way, Cinder could only half respond, her attention split between Glynda and Winter. At the helm of her ship, Winter was in her element, her smile unfaltering—but Cinder didn’t miss the brief cut of those eyes to where she stood, the way her fingers twitched in her lap.

 _Maybe a_ few _ragged edges._

Voice unaffected, Winter simply said, “I suppose that explains it.”

With a few long strides, Glynda took up position next to Cinder, questioning her without saying a word. Instincts kicking in, Cinder gave her best reassuring nod.

If Winter was determined to bury the proof of their conversation, Cinder would have to keep up.

Winter turned in her chair, facing the screen still pulled up with the various news channels. “Well, now that you’re both here… I hope we can discuss what we plan to do about _this_.”

With the click of a button on the small projection in front of her, one of the news feeds expanded to encompass the whole screen. It was a clip of Lamia, ravaging a settlement with blistering flames and her own massive body. She bounded among the buildings, demolishing everything in her path without restraint.

The effect on Glynda was immediate: she sucked in a deep breath, stiffening in place.

That’s right. They weren’t alone anymore. They couldn’t go back to that little cabin and pretend like the world would wait for them. Like Lamia would wait for them.

They didn’t have the luxury of time or distractions.

Tearing her eyes from Winter’s back, Cinder moved closer to Glynda’s side, their shoulders brushing. Glynda glanced down at her. Her fingers caught Cinder’s and gave a quick squeeze: _I’m okay_.

On screen, the clip ended and the familiar face of Lisa Lavender appeared, pointing out the various locations which had been targeted on a map.

“I’m… Not sure I’m ready to fight her again,” Glynda admitted.

“I think you fighting her at all would be unwise,” Winter said, picking up her cup of coffee and taking a long sip. “Suicidal, even. However…”

“We have to do something,” Cinder finished for her, finally finding her voice. “Even if it’s just a way to protect ourselves.”

Winter nodded without looking her way. Knowing her, she would be true to her word: Winter would do what was required to help Glynda. “Right. What that _something_ is…”

“Actually,” Glynda began. “I have an idea.”

Both Winter and Cinder’s heads snapped towards her. With the spotlight now on her, Glynda seemed to stumble somewhat, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean. It’s not just my idea. Ozpin was the one who actually thought of it, but…”

“ _Yes?_ ”

“Well.” Glynda pursed her lips. “I don’t think I’d survive another fight with her. But I think there’s a way we can put a stop to her plans at least, even without fighting her. I think we should destroy the machine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couple of notes:
> 
> 1) how'd you guys like THAT emotional rollercoaster
> 
> 2) i bet you guys thought we forgot cinder fall was a horrible person and still has pretty questionable morals 
> 
> 3) go back and reread any of cinder and winter's past interactions if u want a chuckle


	22. Chapter 22

“Wait, you want to…” Cinder touched her temple, scowling deeply. “You want to destroy the thing she’s poured her life into…? Glynda, when I said we should do something, I was thinking more along the lines of a _defense_. Not something that will enrage her further.”

Three months ago, when Glynda had just been assigned to track down Cinder, she would have never guessed that the woman even knew the meaning of defense. She was all attack, all overwhelming power. Their clashes had been explosive each time, but Cinder had never shied from them.

Now she was crossing her arms and shaking her head at just the thought of moving against Lamia, her agitation clear to see.

“It is a defense,” Glynda said. Just the thought of another fight made the soul within her swell. She touched her chest, willing it down. “I don’t want to fight her.”

“That makes two of us,” Cinder said, but it was clear she still didn’t understand what Glynda was saying.

“Three,” agreed Winter from her perch, hands folded in her lap.

Glynda had never been one to fidget, but she rocked on her heels, hands intertwining in front of her. The two of them were looking at her like she’d just suggested charging straight in. She frowned. When Ozpin had explained it, it had seemed so simple, but she’d never had his way with words.

“However.” Cinder was already leaning toward Glynda, ready to hammer in the point when Winter’s voice cut her short. Their eyes locked over Cinder’s shoulder, expressions of disbelief and weary insistence exchanged between them. “I think we ought to give Glynda a chance to explain her idea. We might be making judgements too early.”

Cinder made a strangled sound of protest. This was an idea she didn’t even want to consider, but she seemed unable to muster a resistance against Winter.

Glynda let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and sent a thankful smile Winter’s way. Winter nodded, inviting Glynda to continue with her plan.

Words weren’t her strong suit. Even less so when it came to sharing plans or tactics. Glynda had never had to before. After graduating from Beacon, she worked exclusively on her own. It had been decades since she’d had a team, and it showed now as she tried to figure out how to best explain her and Oz’s plan.

She supposed she needed to start somewhere. Cinder had consigned herself to listening without looking, her brow knit with frustration. Glynda had to say her name to get her attention. “Cinder. The machine is in Atlas, isn’t it?”

_“Atlas?”_

Glynda nodded in Winter’s direction, noticing the threads of alarm in her tone. It had been where they’d been headed before Lamia had cut them off in Corinth. That a creature like Lamia could carve out a living in the very seat of the Atlesian military’s power must have come as a shock.

Cinder was quiet for a long moment. Then she answered, “Yes… It’s in Atlas. I wasn’t lying when I told you that was where we were headed, Glynda. Far to the north. Humans can’t live there.”

“It’s not just humans. _Nothing_ can live there. Atlas patrols cover the cities and southern borders, but we don’t even...” Winter said, clearly trying to put the pieces together on how Lamia could have been right above their heads the whole time. “Conceivably, if she was far enough, our detection systems wouldn’t even pick her up...”

Cinder shifted, shrugging. “She can live there. Far to the north, there’s a place where only she can survive… I’ve been there, but only once. There’s nothing for miles and miles. Just white snow. My mother likes the solitude, I think. There’s no static. No people. She can just… Exist.”

Static. Glynda remembered. When she had been given Ilkay’s memories, Cinder had been subject to her mother’s… Maybe that was why she was holding herself so defensively. Lamia was still a Grimm. If she could feel humanity’s darkness just like her kin, her taking a home that far north was synonymous to her hiding away.

But right now, Lamia was furious. The ashes she’d left behind today were proof enough of that.

“She’s not going back there,” Glynda said. Her whole plan hinged on this. “Is she?”

Cinder shrugged again, but this time, her discomfort was more pronounced, her shoulders bunching around her neck. “I… I don’t know. I don’t think so… But I don’t know what she’s thinking anymore.”

“If she continues her flight patterns from today, she’ll follow you, Glynda,” Winter said.

Unsurprisingly, it was Cinder who chimed in with, “Which means if you start going towards Atlas, she’ll know. I wouldn’t put it past her to figure out what we’re up to, Glynda. She’s hurt and upset, not stupid.”

Glynda nodded. “I know. But I still have the aura suppressants we used escaping Beacon.”

From the pouch at the small of her back, she pulled out the suppressants which she’d found tucked away against the wall in the cabin from before. When she’d taken them off, she’d left them without a second thought, too intent on her suicidal plan to face Lamia. They’d been right where she dropped them.

Holding them up for both Cinder and Winter to see, Glynda watched as the gears turned. Both of them came to the conclusion at the same time:

“You want to destroy the machine without her even realizing.”

A beat of confidence filled Glynda. Wariness bled from the two of them as they mulled over the possibilities and implications. Even Cinder appeared more contemplative than resistant, and Glynda silently thanked Ozpin for walking her through this so meticulously.

“It would take away her endgame,” Winter said aloud, calculations ticking by behind her eyes.

“She’d still be angry,” Cinder corrected, but even that sounded thoughtful. “But… She wouldn’t be able to use you for the machine… And she needed me to help her build it, which means—”

“If we destroy it, there’s no chance she can win.”

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a step in the right direction. That was what Oz had said.

From there, they would still need to figure something out in order to put an end to the destruction Lamia wrought in her deep despair, but… But Glynda would be lying if she said she didn’t take some small comfort in knowing she wouldn’t suffer the same pain as Bacia. To be used as fuel to power a machine for the rest of her life…

Glynda shivered.

“I’m not sure it’s about _winning_ anymore, Glynda,” Cinder said softly. Of everyone present, she was the one who knew most intimately the fate that awaited Glynda should Lamia manage to control herself enough to capture her. “But… It might force her to think of other ways… Something to save herself that doesn’t require your soul.”

It was a desperate plan with no promise of success, but it offered the one thing they didn’t have before: hope.

“If might make one suggestion...” Winter trailed off, allowing for either Cinder or Glynda to object.

When no dissent was offered, she brought up a holographic screen in front of her. Her fingers snapped over the keys with exacting precision, and when she finished, the larger screen at her back flickered with movement. A map of Remnant with four markers on it appeared, and she stood to face it.

“The targets of today's attacks are in red. Our location is marked in silver,” Winter said, gesturing toward the small, Atlesian crest which displayed their position. No more than fifty miles from them, arranged in an almost perfect arc, were the three red blocks over the destroyed towns. “I’m sure you both would agree that the proximity of these attacks to our location is worrisome.”

“She isn’t leaving,” Glynda said. “I can still feel her nearby.”

“That’s what I thought. Now, the symbols in blue represent areas of denser population, their sizes proportional to the number of inhabitants.”

Across the entirety of Vale, dots of various size appeared over townships and cities, many of which Glynda knew by heart. A good three hundred miles from their current location—Winter had kept her word about giving Beacon a wide berth—was the emblem of the academy in blue.

“My concern,” Winter said, clasping her hands together over the small of her back. “Is that should you disappear, Lamia would rampage indiscriminately. All of Vale could be at risk.”

“All of these could become targets,” Glynda said, remembering the chaos in Corinth before the dome had erected. Corinth had proved it: under a sustained attack, nothing would outlast Lamia. Glynda’s chest constricted as she imagined the map after Lamia had finished with it, each blue dot dyed red. A whole country, potentially reduced to ash. “Even Beacon.”

Not a moment after the words left Glynda’s mouth, the air shifted beside her, a hot flare of Aura she’d recognize anywhere. Cinder stood ramrod straight, her eyes locked firmly on the school. In them blazed a maelstrom of emotions, but prominent among them was fear.

What felt like ages ago, Glynda had promised Emerald and Mercury would be safe there, but now she could feel the anxiety rolling off Cinder in waves, crashing against her and amplifying her own.

“Correct.” Winter nodded and spun sharply on her heel. In stark contrast to Cinder and Glynda, Winter seemed almost relaxed—or, perhaps that was the look of gaining momentum. At the helm of a ship with all eyes on her, she was in her element. “Which is why I would like to pitch an alternative. I believe we should employ a bit of deception.”

A faint tilt of her lips upset her weary appearance. This was _pride_.

With the presence of a soldier befitting her rank and special prestige, Winter didn’t await prompting to begin: “Assuming we’re correct that Lamia will follow you, I believe it would be possible to lead her away from civilization. In fact, if we crossed the ocean, she wouldn’t have any targets save passing airships… And I doubt the General would think twice about approving a no-fly mandate, effective immediately.”

Cinder looked moments from pacing, sharing none of Winters confidence. “And if we’re attacked while crossing the ocean? That sounds fatal.”

For a moment, Winter considered. Her thin lips pursed,and Glynda got the distinct feeling she wasn’t trying to think of a response; rather, it seemed she was deciding how to phrase it.

Eventually, she lowered her voice and said, “From what I’ve seen, another attack from your mother would be fatal regardless of where we’re forced to land.”

It was a simple fact, one that hung over their heads like a guillotine ready to drop. No wonder they had been trying so hard not to acknowledge it thus far.

Leave it to the Specialist from the Atlesian Army to be the first to confront the uncomfortable truths.

Cinder shuffled, crossing her arms and finding something to stare at on the floor. Glynda didn’t blame her, but as she grew more jittery, Glynda grew more statuesque.

“Right.” Glynda wanted to move on. Dwelling on that sapped all the courage from her. She wanted to get back to the rest of Winter plan, the sight of a woman so clearly accustomed to leading instilling her with a semblance of calm. There was a peace that came with listening, with not having to think of the plan herself. “Then what.”

Rather than let Cinder’s question slow her down, Winter showed no sign of discouragement. The holographic board appeared in front of Winter again, and with the press of a button, she adjusted the view of the map so it zoomed in on Atlas. Just as before, blue dots appeared across the country, but here, there were far fewer. In fact, Glynda only counted seven massive dots across all of Atlas.

“Atlas is where we’re headed anyway, but as you can see, our population distribution is much different than Vale’s. Our people very rarely live outside the main cities, and each of these cities houses at least two full brigades of Atlesian soldiers. Obviously, this means the defensive capabilities of each city far exceeds that of any Vale equivalent, not to mention what could be mustered given fair warning.

“So what I propose is this: lure Lamia across the ocean, minimizing the possibility for casualties as we go. Once we’ve arrived in Atlas, lead her to this city—” One of the inland cities blinked, and Glynda noticed it was the one farthest from Atlas’ academy. “Which will have been given plenty of time to evacuate civilians and amass a suitable force. Then you can don the aura suppressants, and if things go to plan, Lamia will believe you’ve taken shelter here, where troops will stand ready to meet her.”

Steel-blue eyes passed over the both of them, expectant, but Glynda found herself at a loss for words. A combination of what they’d done at Corinth and Beacon to throw Lamia off their trail… Winter had to have been up reading reports since Glynda and Cinder had retired to come up with this.

Though it had to have been well over 24 hours since she’d last slept, Winter had come up with a plan that sounded… Well, _sound_.

But Cinder wasn’t convinced. She clicked her tongue, clearly agitated, and said, “I’ve seen my mother bring down airships before. She just tears them out of the sky. The numbers won’t matter. Even sending an army against her...”

“You’re correct. I believe any assault against her—even by a large force—would ultimately be unsuccessful,” Winter replied evenly, following her train of thought effortlessly. She didn’t respond to the subtle bite in Cinder’s tone, subdued but still audible. “The troops there would first and foremost dedicate themselves to defense. They’re meant to keep Lamia busy, not attack her outright. A barrier would be deployed, and should Lamia break through, they’d engage her from a heavily fortified position.”

With every word, Glynda felt as though more and more of the picture was becoming clear to her. Even Cinder seemed to settle somewhat, assured that the full force of the Atlesian military wouldn’t be tested against her mother. Winter had an answer to every one of Cinder’s concerns. Winter’s confidence was infectious.

For the briefest moment, Glynda found herself staring, a new appreciation glimmering in her eyes. The crisp angles of Winter’s uniform didn’t even hint at wrinkles, and her medals shined as though regularly tended, the very picture of expertise.

Ozpin had mentioned that even Ironwood held her in high regard, trusting her to tasks when no one else would suffice. Now she could see why.

Clearing her throat, Glynda finally contributed, “If the people have been evacuated, there’s a lower chance of civilian casualties. Lamia’s targets so far haven’t really been prepared for her. But if this city could hold her off…”

Winter smiled again. “We’d be free to seek out the machine without her being the wiser. I had considered this last night, but without a goal in mind, this is merely a stall tactic. Eventually, we’d be forced to try something else. However, if we can destroy the machine and make it back before her siege can break through Atlas defenses…”

Focused entirely on Winter, Glynda didn’t miss the momentary flicker of those eyes to the spot beside her—and neither did Cinder. Where Glynda leaned into the leadership offered, Cinder shrunk back from it at this. What came after the machine was destroyed seemed so clear with Winter illuminating the way, regardless of whether or not she’d actually said it yet.

Drumming her fingers across her biceps, Cinder looked ready to flee, halfway there before she stopped herself. Forcing herself to stay only resulted in a sharp exhale, anxiety pronounced in her every movement until it seemed she might just explode from trying to contain it all.

“I…” Her voice was strangled. “I’m not sure if I can…”

It was so obvious. If this generation’s Witch was powerless against Lamia; if an army’s strength could only bring uncertain odds at the cost of so many; who else but Cinder could put an end to this?

Glynda had read Cinder’s unwillingness and taken it without question. For decades, she’d operated as a one-woman force. There normally wasn’t even time for others to balk at the task; she was efficient, a machine. She took things into her own hands and accomplished the mission, regardless of what it was.

Until she discovered even her vast strength was useless against Lamia.

But it was apparent in Winter’s stare: she didn’t consider anything else an option. If Cinder couldn’t bring her mother to see reason, there was nothing that could sate Lamia’s hatred.

From an objective point, Winter could see the steps which would lead them out of this alive. Reflected in Winter’s eyes, Glynda could see the path to success.

But Cinder wasn’t looking at Winter. Cinder was looking at Glynda.

Surprise filtered into concern when Glynda noticed, the spell of Winter’s command broken.

There were a million things contained in Cinder’s look. Glynda felt as though she were missing a great deal, the whole of it racing by so quickly she couldn’t deduce what laid behind each nuance of her expression. What she did catch was the realization dawning on Cinder’s face in increments: if she didn’t do this, Glynda might never be safe.

“I don’t know if I can change her mind.” Cinder’s nails dug into the red sigils across her arms. They flared ever so slightly, her Aura sapping away the crescent shaped marks before they could bleed. “But… I’ll try. If she doesn’t have the machine, _maybe_ …”

“I’ll be with you,” Glynda said, touching her shoulder.

Glancing up from the floor, Cinder forced a rictus smile. “I think that would be a bad move.”

The sight of her had driven Lamia into a fury both times they’d fought. Glynda’s scars throbbed all at once, her body riddled with phantom pain from just the thought of appearing before Lamia again. Even at night, when Lamia was relatively limited and there was a better chance of getting through to her…

“Maybe, yeah.”

Which meant that Cinder would have to be alone when she faced her mother.  

The soft creak of Winter’s chair announced she’d returned to her seat. Even seated, she looked no less sure than before, a beacon of light in a world of darkness. Folding her hands across her lap, she took a moment to collect her words. Glynda realized she was already waiting for her guidance here.

“I’m inclined to agree with Cinder,” Winter said finally. “Having you on site would inflame the situation. However, support isn’t out of the question.”

Cinder’s head snapped up, a guarded hope gripping her.

Caution built in Winter, each word picked and presented gingerly. “I wanted to bring this up as well… Another battle with Lamia would no doubt be lethal if we repeat our past tactics. You know her best, Cinder. If there’s an advantage we could exploit, something to turn the tides in our favor…”

_“No.”_

Snapped from pointed, jagged teeth. Angled like a blade at the offending throat. Glynda recognized the reaction; in Corinth, when she’d demanded to know how to kill Lamia, Cinder had transformed into something angry and steely. Immovable and dangerous.

The air warmed. Cinder’s hands formed fists. It was potent. Even Winter reacted, her hands shifting incrementally toward her belt, her dark, shadowed eyes wide with surprise.

Had nothing changed since Corinth, after all?

Wrong. Glynda could detect the smallest differences. Now, despite the fervor with which Cinder dissented, there was a particular uncertainty to her expression, lips pressed flat instead of pulled back in a snarl. Like for the first time, she realized what it would mean if she couldn’t sway her mother.

There was a tired weakness to her now, and it widened the cracks in her resistance.

“Cinder,” Winter said, her voice strained. Her brow knit. “This is could be the difference—”

“I’m not discussing this.” When she couldn’t depend on herself, Cinder clamped shut to the outside world, letting no one else see her question. She’d hide away the weakness in her until she could convince herself she was right. “If that’s the support you’re offering… I don’t want it.”

Even with all the world riding on this, Cinder was refusing to consider harming her mother.

Winter opened her mouth as if to speak and then shut it, her expression becoming unreadable. Traces of anger, confusion, maybe more. Glynda couldn’t tell. She was trained to lead troops against the stuff of nightmares, but this wasn’t a battle against a nameless enemy. This was Cinder’s mother.

Panic rose in Glynda when Winter didn’t have an immediate rebuttal.

As if pulled by some magnetism, Glynda’s hand rose to touch the notch in her ear, eyes flickering down to where her earring hung around Cinder’s neck. Slowly, she said, “I… Do.”

Gold cut her way, disbelief apparent even before Cinder managed to hiss, _“What.”_

Glynda swallowed.

“If I fight her again, it will be the same as last time. She’ll kill me,” Glynda said. She felt her voice crack on the last word, but reeled it in, trying to strangle the emotion instinctually. Even if she maintained a chokehold on her feelings, her words flowed like a raging river. “I’m scared. She’ll kill me or she’ll try to put me in the machine. I’m so scared I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been this scared of anything in my life. I’ve never been this scared of dying.”

As she spoke, more and more substance drained from her tone until there was nothing left. It sounded like a robot was talking. Glynda pinched the torn lobe of her ear, but otherwise didn’t move.

“I don’t want her to kill me.” If anything, the lack of all emotion only seemed to increase Cinder and Winter’s reactions. There was an acute expression of pain on forming on Cinder’s face, though Glynda knew she wasn’t bleeding. “If I can’t run from her, I have to be able to fight. But I can’t win if I fight.”

Death had never scared her before. In truth, it still didn’t. But Lamia did. Lamia scared her more than anything else in this world.

A Witch was supposed to hunt, but to Lamia, she could only ever be prey.

Even her soul knew it. Ilkay had died like chattel, not struggling. Bacia had died with blood under her nails, fighting to her last breath. Vivienne had run all her life and never escaped the shadow that was Lamia’s existence.

The cold resonance she’d felt in Corinth had been her soul recognizing the entity which had hunted it across lifetimes. Even now, she still felt it.

“Glynda...”

Cinder touched her arm. The sensation registered faintly. Conflict flared openly on Cinder’s face, and it reduced her to muteness.

“I assure you, Glynda, your protection is our top priority…” Winter said. Glynda glanced up to see she looked alarmed. Absently, she noticed it was the first time she’d seen Winter emote so plainly. “If there’s anything we can do…”

The rest of the words died on her tongue as she realized a promise like that would require more than she could give.

The grip on Glynda’s arm edged on painful, her body sending warning signs to her uncaring brain. Cinder looked trapped. Like a rabbit in a snare, the noose pulling tighter the more she struggled. Glynda’s eyes trained on the pendant, hoping.

None of the anger from before remained in Cinder. There was nothing left but fear and indecision.

It took her a long time to gather her words. Even to Glynda, who was no stranger to silences, it seemed like an eternity.

“Cold. Water. Dust equivalents. Anything to staunch a flame.” It sounded like every syllable had to be torn from her throat. Like she knew that once said, they could never be reclaimed. “She shaped my Aura. Our strengths and weaknesses have always been identical.”

The analytical part of Glynda’s mind reached back, gathering data. The fight in Forever Fall Forest. The way Cinder’s Aura had sputtered beneath the constant downpour. Even their clash in the desert. Her power had swelled beneath the intense heat of the sun just like Lamia’s. Had she looked closer, she would have been able to see it.

“She can only survive in the north of Atlas because she’s made a home of a dormant volcano there. Without that, she’d die just like everything else. The cold would kill her.”

In contrast to the way Cinder’s face showed only wretched misery, Glynda felt some part of herself stir with tactics. Tactics and hope.

“If I have to fight her, do it in Atlas.” Her thoughts out loud solidified into something tangible. Something she could venture to call a _plan_. “She’s weak to the cold.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Cinder said quietly. Desperation marked her. She couldn’t afford to be wrong here. “I’m going to stop her before it gets to that. Trust me.”

Glynda did. Her thumb eased off the notch in her ear, brushing across it. She trusted Cinder would do what she said. Cinder would protect her again, just like both times before.

Still, her soul drew comfort from knowing Lamia wasn’t invulnerable.

“We can discuss this further at a later time.” Winter coolly interjected. She had regained a bit of her posture. She touched her temple, swiveling her chair away. “I’ll need to send this plan to General Ironwood for approval. He’ll have to be the one to order troop movement and any evacuation effort. In the meantime, I can set a course for Atlas.”

“He wanted to send an army after Cinder,” Glynda recounted.

Cinder gave a soft sigh, her eyes on the ground. Deflated.

“Correct. I don’t think he’ll lose sleep from our stall tactic.” There was a certain emphasis put on stall. Cinder didn’t say anything. “If we can solve this without anymore casualties, that would be the best resolution. I’ll begin a message to him immediately.”

It sounded like a chance to excuse herself, and Cinder took it.

With a quiet murmur that she needed to make a phone call, she slipped away without meeting either of their gazes. Glynda watched her go, but got the distinct feeling she didn’t want to be followed.

The doors hissed as they closed behind Cinder, leaving Winter and Glynda alone. Winter was already typing away, surely outlining their combined plans. With nothing else to do, Glynda took a seat at one of the stations meant for other crew members, staring blankly at the screen.

A part of her replayed Cinder’s expression over and over again in her head. She knew Cinder was hurting. She thought she had been the one to hurt her. It was an uncomfortable tangle of sentiments. To need so deeply for some final ace against Lamia, especially when that need was congruent with Cinder’s pain.

It occurred to her that she needed to apologize.

“Glynda.” It took a moment to realize that the constant white-noise of typing had stopped some time ago. Glynda turn in her seat to face Winter. “I was sincere about doing everything to protect you.”

“Yes,” Glynda said. “Thank you, Winter.”

“My father holds the current monopoly on Dust, as you know. Because of this, I’m somewhat of an expert.”

It felt like Winter was avoiding arriving at the point of the conversation.

“Yes,” Glynda agreed.

Winter took a moment to lift her cup of coffee to her lips, only to stop midway. Her shoulders drooped some as she set it back down, presumably empty. It was as close to slouching as Glynda had ever seen her come.

And she was definitely stalling.

“Therefore… I may be able to outfit both you and Cinder with something to use, should worse come to worst…” Winter lifted the scabbard from her belt to show the finely crafted sword nestled within. Dust was engraved upon the pommel and guard so finely that crackles of energy could be seen shifting across it. The blade itself must have been much the same. “I’ve tended my own weapon for years. Configuring something of blue Dust for the two of you would take time, but we aren’t lacking on that if our goal is Atlas.”

Layer upon layer of contingencies. They bolstered the feeling in Glynda’s chest, even if that feeling was now tinged with guilt.

“I understand. I’d like that,” Glynda said. Every indication said Winter was waiting for something, but Glynda didn’t know what it was. “Is there something you need from me?”

Winter shook her head quickly. “No, no. I’ll be able to do it myself. However…”

There was another unreadable flash of emotion across Winter’s face. Glynda tried to pin it down, but Winter was skilled at smoothing it away before it could take definite shape. Much better than Ironwood, who wore his every inclination on his sleeve.

“From what I’ve seen and what’s been said… I’m concerned any attempt to dissuade Lamia from her course could be met with… Well, that’s just it. Cinder herself has said she isn’t able to predict what her mother will do.”

Volitile. Explosive. Fatal. Glynda knew the leylines of Lamia’s thoughts were not always straight or steady. A cold fear returned to her chest.

The first time Cinder had jumped between them, Lamia had been blind to her until she’d nearly collapsed one side of her torso. Human bodies were not meant to contort the way Cinder’s had. If it had been anyone else, she probably wouldn’t have survived.

“She could hurt her,” Glynda said. “When they meet.”

“She wasn’t harmed this time, but afterwards… Cinder expressed she wasn’t sure what would happen next time.” Winter’s tone softened. “I would like to make a form of protection for the both of you. It doesn’t have to be used lethally. But I believe in this instance, you’d be more likely to convince Cinder than I would be.”

An apology and a request she bear arms when she met with Lamia.

Glynda looked down at her scarred hands. She wondered if her apology would be any better than the one Cinder had offered her at Beacon. Somehow, she didn’t think so.

“I’ll talk to her,” she said finally. “Thank you, Winter.”

Winter offered a half-smile, crystalline in its fragility. “I haven’t done anything yet, Glynda. But if it’s you asking, I think she’ll allow it. If for nothing else, than for your peace of mind.”

That sort of confidence was enough to inspire envy in anyone. Glynda certainly wished she had it now, but just hearing it from Winter seemed to make her task less impossible. Just like before, she felt as though she could follow Winter anywhere.

“Thank you, Winter,” Glynda repeated. “I can see why your sister speaks so highly of you.”

Pale brows shot up. “Weiss?”

Glynda nodded. “I’ve taught her. She favors your technique. Among other things.”

“She’s doing well?” Winter leaned forward in her seat. “Her team? Her grades?”

“An excellent student.”

That didn't seem to be the answer Winter had been looking for. “Is she… Does she seem happy?”

Through the fog of Glynda’s soul, it was hard to remember. She tamped it down and forced herself to concentration, urged on by the ravenous curiosity in Winter.

Mmm… A rough start, to be sure, but in recent months, Glynda had observed vast improvement in the dynamics of team RWBY. That they were growing closer was unquestioned, and on the whole, compared to the beginning of the year, Glynda’s most recent memories of Weiss seemed more… Relaxed.

“I think so,” she said. “When this is over, you’ll get the chance to see her once we’re back at Beacon.”

A flash of surprise crossed Winter’s face. Then she smiled, this time without the appearance of glass waiting to shatter. “Yes, that’s true. I would like to see the both of you home safely, and then… Perhaps I’ll take some time off to check in with my sister. Thank you, Glynda.”

A light glimmered in her tired eyes. Glynda thought it was a good look, one she hadn’t seen since Winter had arrived to pick them up from Mountain Glenn.

Glynda didn’t have many friends—in fact, prior to this, she’d had a grand total of one—but even in this bleak situation, she was glad Winter was the one who had been assigned to assist them. She thought maybe she and Winter were friends.

She wanted to ask, but even she knew that was silly. Instead, she smiled and said, “I’m going to go find Cinder.”

Winter nodded and rose to her feet. Her knees popped. “And I believe I’ll take this opportunity to retire to my cabin. If you need me…”

“I’ll call you.”

“Good luck, Glynda.”

“See you in the morning, Winter.”

*

When Glynda returned to her cabin, Cinder was nowhere to be found.

It only confirmed what Glynda already knew: that Cinder needed time alone. But it didn’t make Glynda feel any better about the conversation they would have when she came back.

Glynda made her way to the bed and laid back on it, letting her eyes close as she imagined what she should say. She didn’t have the subtlety to edge into the topic. Even if she tried, she was sure it would come like a sledgehammer to the face. Hopefully, Cinder knew her well enough not to be too offended.

Running through scenarios in her head, she felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach. It was distinctly uncomfortable. Somehow, she was beginning to understand why it had taken so long to wrest an apology from Cinder.

She flipped onto her side, losing track of time as she waited for Cinder to return. Eventually, her thoughts drifted to the plan Winter had laid out, going through every piece step by step until she knew it by heart. It was a cold sort of comfort, built of numbers and processes, but it was comforting nonetheless. Maybe things would be okay.

Images danced behind her eyes: her memories from Ilkay, the vision of Vivienne over Ozpin’s shoulder. In the moments before she’d fought Lamia the second time, she’d almost been able to picture Bacia, a vague figure with a massive scythe.

All Witches, all made of the same sinew and spirit she was. All Witches, guided by the light of the moon, full and whole above the horizon.

Once, it had been unbroken. She remembered it, a phantom memory left behind by Ilkay.

A dark, winged shape darted against its pure, white light. Black claws, red wings, and molten eyes she knew so well. The pristine recollection of the moon fractured, webwork cracks racing across its face, and Glynda watched it divide into so many little pieces.

Glynda started awake with the sensation of falling. Her pulse was elevated, but she quickly evaluated herself. The awareness of her body came in segments—her arms, her legs, her fingers and toes—and then came her environment. She was still in the cabin. And still alone.

Nothing but a dream.

Sitting up, Glynda blinked away the sleep in her eyes. How long had it been? She didn’t have a clock in the room to judge, so she lifted her scroll to check the time. A couple hours, gone between her fingers like water.

And Cinder was still nowhere to be seen.

Glynda rose, her body stiff, and stretched. On an airship, there weren’t many places to hide away, and she thought Cinder must have been very devoted to her solitude if she still hadn’t returned. Worry gnawed at her, but she didn’t want to intrude if Cinder truly still wanted to be alone.

Her stomach growled. Glynda’s thoughts drifted to food, wondering whether or not she could at least go find something to eat. This was supposed to be a ship meant for covert operations according to Winter, and though she’d offered the cabins to Glynda, she hadn’t said anything about the rest of the ship.

Glynda made a face, weighing her options before finally deciding: even without Winter’s explicit permission to explore the ship, she didn’t think it mattered too much if she went looking for something to eat.

Besides, if there were any Atlesian secrets Winter wanted to protect, Glynda expected Cinder would have found them by now.

Stepping outside her cabin, Glynda closed the door quietly behind her. The airship was colder now. The empty halls made it seem bigger than it was. Not even the engine hummed, their flight over the rose-tinged clouds silent and smooth as silk.

Glynda paused at the windows lining this part of the ship. Outside, the sun was beginning to rise, pinks and purples mixing at the horizon. When she looked down, Glynda saw only endless ocean beneath them, whitecaps rising and fading with the rolling waves. A part of her thought it was a beautiful sight; the rest thought only of what the sunrise would mean, invoking images of plummeting into the crushing ocean depths.

Instinctually, her senses reached out. Lamia was was farther away now, landlocked until the sun had broken free of the horizon. Glynda knew the distance wouldn’t last.

She moved on quickly.

Winter had provided no map of the airship, but there were small indicators at the end of each hallway to point in the direction of areas of importance. It didn’t take long at all to find a sign directing her towards the kitchen, and she followed it toward the ship’s stern.

Opening the double doors at the end of the route, Glynda discovered a small mess hall. It was clearly meant only to accommodate the crew of such a small vessel, but like the rest of the ship, it seemed bigger with no one to fill it. Again, Glynda had to wonder just where Cinder had managed to disappear to…

At least until she heard the faint creak of a cabinet from the kitchen just beyond the narrow tables, separated by a cut out wall.

“Cinder?” Glynda called out.

The sound died. From the long window where a cook would serve a line of hungry soldiers, Cinder’s head of black hair appeared. She didn’t smile, but she waved before stepping out of view again.

The door which led back to the kitchen portion of the mess hall swung easily when Glynda pushed against it. Inside, the walls were lined with cabinets and stocked with various durables. Equipment for the cooks were neatly tucked away and tied down to prevent shifting during flight, and against the back wall, there was a short, squat table extending from the wall with three chairs pulled in around it.

Cinder loitered near it, crouched by a set of cabinets and examining two different boxes. Hunger must have pulled her here as well, because she was apparently trying to decide between something that seemed to hint at pasta and something else that looked like it might have been a bulk package of oatmeal.

From the corner of her eye, Glynda noticed Cinder’s shoes perched upon the edge of the table.

“There’s not much in the way of fine dining,” Cinder said when she glanced up to see Glynda standing there. “Can you cook?”

There was a certain listlessness to her. A dullness that was more prominent in her eyes, usually a brilliant, blazing gold. Before she’d been full to the brim of turbulent emotions, but now she just seemed… Empty.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Glynda didn’t even realize she hadn’t answered. Cinder rose from her spot with her choice of noodles in hand, nudging the cabinet closed behind her with the heel of one foot.

Though her jaw felt numb, Glynda forced herself to take a few steps forward to meet her. “I can cook. Not well. But I can manage this.”

A dark brow arched in response to her extended hand, but it was far subdued from Cinder’s usual flare. Without a word of contention, she handed over the box and retreated to the table and chairs to sit. Cinder’s legs pulled up, toes curling over the ledge of her seat. She set her head on her knees.

Glynda had just promised she would be able to handle this, but the sight of Cinder curled in on herself left her doubting her ability to do more than stand there like an idiot.

“I’m sor—”

“Glynda,” Cinder interjected, not even looking her way. “Food. Please.”

A swift execution of a half-formed apology. Butterflies twisted up Glynda’s insides, but she didn’t argue, looking down at the box in her hand and checking the instructions. Spaghetti. It literally couldn’t have been easier than this.

Except, of course, for the increasingly oppressive air in the kitchen. Gameshows had been staged around less stressful culinary environments.

Still, Glynda managed to kick herself into action. Searching the nearest set of cabinets for a suitable pot, she located industrial sized variations. Perfect for feeding a crew upwards of a dozen, but completely unsuited to a meal for two. In lieu of anything else—and any direction from Cinder, who still wasn’t looking—Glynda decided to work with what she had.

Hefting one of the smallest of the large pots up onto the edge of the deep basin sink, she set about filling it with water. She wasn’t entirely sure how much she needed, and it was hard to judge when the pot was as wide as her hips. It filled slowly, and Glynda busied herself by stealing glances at Cinder.

She hadn’t moved. Staring at nothing at all, she looked like she’d been carved of stone, inanimate. The only thing that broke the spell was the occasional, languid blink.

Guilt churned in Glynda again. Instead of helping, Cinder’s time alone seemed to have only stolen all the fire from her.

The water gurgled in the pot, and Glynda glanced down to find it had risen to almost the halfway point. Stifling a curse, she twisted the knobs and shut off the water, frowning down at what was in the pot. It was probably more than she needed, but in the interest of getting this going as fast as possible and—somehow, someway—breaking this tension, she opted to lift it towards the stove.

The burner burst to life beneath it. It was encouraging for all of two seconds before Glynda realized that now she needed to wait for the water to boil.

 _Malingering_ was a lenient word for what she was doing. _Intruding_ felt a great deal more accurate.

Hunched over the pot with the box of pasta in hand, she stared directly at the water and nothing else, foregoing the old wisdom of _a watched pot never boils_. No space save the one she occupied in the kitchen felt suitable for her to inhabit, and even then, it felt criminal to even think about stealing another look at Cinder.

It didn’t stop her eyes from wandering, though. Cinder was angled away from her here. She hadn’t moved. No new information to be gathered.

Back to the water, which refused to boil. Glynda cranked the burner’s heat up, trying to rush toward the part where she could add the pasta and then… Think of something to say? Was she allowed to talk? Cinder had cut her off earlier, but that might have just been because she’d expected exactly what Glynda was going to say.

“Glynda.”

Glynda jumped, nearly elbowing Cinder in the process—she had somehow appeared right next to her while she was trying to will the water warmer. Her reaction earned her a roll of golden eyes, but otherwise, Cinder just nodded toward the stove.

“You added too much water. It’s never going to boil.”

“O-oh. Yeah, I guess I did…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Should I dump some out?”

Cinder didn’t respond, just placed her palm against the side of the pot. The dust sewn into her jacket’s sleeves glowed briefly, and there was a gradual build of heat which had an almost immediate effect on the water. It began to simmer and bubble.

“Thought you said you could handle this,” Cinder said, withdrawing her hand.

“It’s been a while since I didn’t just get lunch at Beacon…” Glynda admitted. She didn’t admit that _a while_ specifically meant probably years at this point. “But, um… Thanks.”

Cinder made a sound of acknowledgment, and Glynda expected her to return to her spot by the table. When she didn’t, Glynda floundered, uncertain when Cinder was less than a step away but still…

Glynda ripped the top off the box and dumped the contents into the pot.

“Glynda, are you—” Cinder dragged her palm down her face. The look she shot Glynda was edging on annoyance. “We don’t _need_ that much.”

“What?” The hard noodles bobbing in the water looked like a decent amount. “I eat a lot? It looks fine to me.”

“Even you are not going to be able to—okay, move. Go, go—” Cinder shooed Glynda away from the stove with some pointed looks and more than a few _pointed_ elbows aimed at her ribs. It was a little more like what Glynda was accustomed to from Cinder. “Just—I’ll finish this. I cannot believe I can’t even trust you with _pasta_.”

“Hey,” Glynda protested. Relieved or not to see that not all the life had drained from Cinder, the sting from those deft jabs were felt more in her pride than her side. “I was doing just fine.”

“ _Sure,_ Glynda.”

Okay, now she was just being rude. This felt more natural to Glynda than unending silence, but as tempting as it was to just continue until their meal was done and then move on… She knew she shouldn’t. Crossing her arms and setting her back to the counter next to the stove, Glynda stifled down a snappy response.

It took her some time to figure out just what to say instead, though. Finally: “So… Where have you been?”

Cinder’s gaze flickered her way. She shrugged, but began looking for something. “Another cabin. I wanted to make a call.”

Glynda watched her retrieve a suitably sized stirrer from a drawer. “Are Emerald and Mercury okay?”

“I _wanted_ to call them.” A shrug, clearly meant to enforce some kind of nonchalance neither of them were buying. “I ended up not. I’m sure they’re alright, but… Well, I sewed up your cloak anyway. It’s waiting for you in the cabin three down from the one we used.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Glynda frowned. Whether Cinder was purposefully routing the conversation around the elephant in the room or not, the dogged avoidance was going to give Glynda grey hairs. She swallowed and then mustered, “Can we… Talk about your mom?”

There was a subtle shift in the taut muscles of Cinder’s shoulders. Glynda was expecting her to say no, but she didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Glynda said.

Cinder’s lips flattened.

“I… Think I hurt you. And I didn’t want to. I just wanted to... After the last time I fought her…”

Glynda fingertips itched over the pale lines crisscrossing her arms. The scars were sensitive, producing more sensation than she was used to. Touching them now, she couldn’t help but remember the brief portions of the fight before she’d taken refuge in the depths of her soul.

She grimaced, and Cinder looked her way.

“I’m sorry,” Glynda repeated, unsure of what else to say.

“Glynda,” Cinder said, eyes fixated on her. “This is the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”

A beat passed.

Glynda felt the tingle of recollection at the base of her brain. Those were her words.

“I… Can’t tell if you’re being serious right now or not.”

Cinder didn’t blink. After a moment, she returned to the pasta.

“I’m inclined to let you suffer a bit. But. I won’t. I’m joking, Glynda.”

“Oh. Okay.” Glynda’s shoulders bunched around her neck. “Haha?”

Cinder let out a ghost of a scoff. It reminded Glynda of when they had first started to move together as opposed to her just chasing Cinder across Remnant. Like Cinder was three seconds from roasting her.

“Remind me not to be nice next time,” Cinder said, clicking her tongue. She reached over the stove and turned off the burner. “And take this over to the sink for me.”

“What?”

“We need to strain these.”

“Okay, but—”

“I’m not upset with you, Glynda.” Cinder’s expression flashed uncomfortable for a moment before she ducked to begin searching for a strainer. “I’m just… Are you going to move that or not?”

Glynda huffed, but did as she was told, lifting the pot and carrying to toward the sink.

With their backs facing each other, Cinder’s tongue seemed to loosen, though the sound of rummaging never abated. “I’m just… My mother has been protecting me my entire life. In every way she could. It’s not that I’m mad at you, Glynda. I’m… Disgusted with myself. For betraying her over and over again.

“I know you want to protect yourself. _I_ want to protect you. I don’t want her to come near you again. But that didn’t mean I had to… All I had to do was keep what I told you in my own head. I just had to say _nothing_ . She gave me the world when I was a child… And she’s the reason I have my Aura… My _life_ …

“When I first started with Dust, I could empty a Schnee train with a flock of Grimm, and if I ever needed a safe place to stay… She gave me all of that, Glynda. I built who am I today off of what she gave me. Everything I am is because of her.

“And all I keep giving her in return is _disappointment_.”

The sound of pots and pans shifting died, and Glynda glanced over her shoulder. Cinder kneeled on the floor, her back to Glynda still, her head bowed.

“Even when I took your side… Even when I stopped her from getting you, she didn’t attack me. I keep replaying it in my head. She should have. But she didn’t even try it. And now… I think about seeing her again, and I’m scared. I can’t stop doubting her. I keep thinking, what if she decides I’m nothing but a traitor? She _should_ … I would, but what if I’m wrong? What if I keep thinking the worst of her?”

Glynda left the pot where it sat, moving silently across the room until she could lower onto the ground next to Cinder. Her long legs kicked out in the direction she’d just come from, her back to the cabinets Cinder was facing. She wasn’t sure what she was allowed, so she put a hand lightly on Cinder’s shoulder. Cinder didn’t look up, but she did lean into Glynda, and Glynda took that as permission, wrapping her other arm around her as well.

She didn’t tremble. She was still as could be. But Glynda could feel her pulse thrumming like a runaway beat beneath her skin.

“I’m her only daughter. She’s given me everything, but I can’t…”

A traitor in mind as well as body. It was the final, most grievous sin. No matter what shape her body took or whether her horns grew tall and imposing, she could still be her mother’s daughter. But this went deeper than flesh and bone. This was a betrayal of her mother’s life.

Glynda wanted to apologize again, but this wasn’t something she _could_ apologize for.

Instead, she sat with Cinder on the floor, allowing Cinder to turn her head into the crook of her neck. Just like when Glynda had told Cinder about how empty her life had been before this, she didn’t say a word. There wasn’t much she could say. She just hoped that her touch would be enough.

They sat there for a long time, not speaking. Glynda found her thoughts drifting to Lamia. Her senses told her she was on the move now, moving in on their position fast. Glynda closed her eyes. Cold fear tugged at her, but even so, she hoped—if only for Cinder’s sake—that Lamia could be persuaded.

“We still have a chance,” Glynda finally said. “You can convince her.”

Muffled against Glynda’s neck, Cinder’s response was: “I know.”

A heavy exhale warmed Glynda’s flesh right before Cinder pulled away. Glynda let her. Without looking her way, Cinder reached into the cabinet again, pulling out the strainer and slowly and shakily rising to her feet. Gold stared down at Glynda, and Glynda’s hand sought her calve, fingers light upon the curve of muscle there.

It was an unspoken question.

“I know you need to protect yourself,” came Cinder’s answer. “But if you kill her… I won’t forgive you.”

It wasn’t a surprise. Even Glynda had guessed as much.

“Just like I wouldn’t forgive her if she…”

Rather than leave Cinder to finish her thought, Glynda said, “Winter wants to use blue Dust. For emergencies.”

Cinder shook her head and gave a clipped, hollow laugh. “I had a feeling she would… It defeats the purpose of her waiting until I’m out of the room to say it if you tell me, Glynda.”

“She didn’t want to hide it from you,” Glynda said. Thinking about it now, it felt almost like she was trying to spare Cinder’s feelings. “She’s worried Lamia might hurt you when you meet. She wants to make something for you too. It doesn’t have to be used to hurt your mother.”

Cinder’s expression screwed up into something that made Glynda wish she _had_ just spared her feelings. Glynda’s scarred fingers slid a little higher along the denim of her jeans until she touched the back of her knee. Cinder shifted her weight, free hand dropping to Glynda’s shoulder.

As much as she didn’t want to hurt Cinder, Glynda knew she needed to know.

“I don’t want it,” Cinder said, her fingers giving Glynda’s shoulder a squeeze. “But… I want you to accept whatever she offers. For emergencies.”

Glynda knew better than to try to convince her otherwise. Winter’s confidence here had been sorely placed, but that didn’t upset Glynda. In fact, she felt the simmerings of warmth in her chest.

Letting go of Cinder’s leg, she rose to her feet. Returned to their usual standing, Glynda looked down at Cinder, and Cinder met her gaze with a tired expression. Slowly, without looking away, the two of them drifted together, Cinder only closing her eyes at the last moment. Glynda’s lips pressed against her forehead, and it felt right.

“Well,” Cinder breathed. She didn’t pull away, and Glynda kissed the crown of her head. “Our pasta is ruined anyway.”

Oh right. That had been sitting in a pot of cooling water for some time now.

Cinder sighed, her usual sass asserting itself. “We somehow managed to fuck up spaghetti, Glynda.”

Glynda smiled into her dark hair. “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

*

Leaving their noodles in the water for too long left them overcooked and with an unnatural texture, but the two of them ate their terrible creation more of necessity than desire. As Cinder had predicted, there was plenty left over, but neither of them particularly wanted to experience it a second time around, so they threw it away with exchanged quips hoping Winter wouldn’t notice the waste.

At the mention of Winter, Glynda shot off a text to her that she would be taking her up on her offer whenever she was awake. A part of her almost expected Winter to answer immediately, but when she didn’t Glynda was relieved. She needed to sleep, and the measly hours she’d been allowed so far were far from sufficient.

So the two of them returned to their cabin, only pausing to look out the window at the sun creeping towards its zenith. In the distance, Glynda spotted a black mass—one her senses confirmed was Lamia.

She wasn’t daring closer. Her speed had slowed to match theirs perfectly, trailing at a distance.

“At least we were right about this,” Cinder said.

“Maybe we’ll be right about the rest too.”

Being optimistic was a strange sensation. Glynda sort of enjoyed it, and even Cinder seemed to appreciate it.

There was nothing they could do to stop an attack if Lamia truly wanted to tear them from the sky, so the two of them ducked back into the cabin they’d been in before after stopping to pick up Glynda’s cape and Cinder’s coat.

Glynda felt like she should have been doing something, but at this point, it didn’t feel like there was anything _to_ do. They could only await Winter to discover whether their plan had been approved and to see what she thought they needed to do next.

The hours passed slowly, Cinder taking the time to call Emerald and Mercury and speaking with them in quiet tones that betrayed her affection and worry.

Otherwise, they mostly spent the time quietly, resting in close proximity.

At least until Winter finally returned her text with the simple: _If you’re both ready, I’ve prepared some things in my quarters._

It was earlier than Glynda had expected, but it wasn’t like she or Cinder had anything better to do. Relaying Winter’s message, the two of them set off together to figure out where Winter’s cabin was, Glynda feeling hopeful, Cinder not shaking her apprehension quite as easily.

It took longer than expected on a ship this small, but finally, they found her down a hallway adjacent to the bridge. Refreshed and rested, Winter carried herself with greater ease than before, the set of her shoulders looking natural instead of stiff. The bags beneath her eyes had yet to disappear—and if Glynda could guess, wouldn’t any time soon—but she smiled effortlessly at the two of them and beckoned them down the hall to her quarters.

Glynda felt newer with the return of her cape as well, like a piece of her armor had returned polished and buffed. The jagged tears from her last encounter with Lamia were mostly mended, though the ones closer to the edges suited the style and had been left untouched.

Cinder too looked to have benefited at all from the return of her coat. She trailed behind Glynda slightly, but not far enough that she was out of reach.

“This way,” Winter said, leading them past two other doors before arriving at the end of the hallway and pushing into the cabin there.

It was a small room, about the same size as the others, different only in that there were two folding tables with various items upon them in the center. With those and the the three of them packed in one room, Glynda even felt a little claustrophobic. She’d thought the captain of the ship would have better accommodations, but Winter seemed perfectly content with what she had. She held the door for both of them before letting it shut after Cinder, clasping her hands behind her back and circling around them to the displays.

“I have a handful of items here,” she said, gesturing to the things laid out on the tables. “It was short notice, but I’m certain I’d be able to infuse any of these with Dust. Your preferences will be the determining factor on what materials I use.”

Glynda nodded, taking a step forward to examine what she had to choose from. Cinder was clearly more hesitant, but she stepped forward as well.

Considering the short notice, there was no shortage of choices. Two Atlas blades similar to the one hanging at Winter’s belt sat on the top corner of one table, but Glynda glanced over them immediately. She’d never cared much for swords, and she didn’t think Cinder would appreciate them either. Small revolvers, combat knives, and even thin chains of silver were arranged neatly upon the tables, but Glynda avoided the ones that looked too much like weapons.

“It needs to be subtle,” Cinder said quietly, looking over a set of Atlesian crests which could be pinned to any outfit.

“And easy to reach,” Glynda added. “If something happens, we need to be able to use it instantly. Maybe gloves?”

Winter hummed thoughtfully. “Imbuing cloth with dust can grant it immunity to certain types of elemental forces. Cinder can attest to that. However, to sew in enough Dust to generate something which could be used as a shield…”

“Gloves wouldn’t work,” Cinder said plainly. This was an area she was clearly familiar with as well. Scrutinizing the options before her, she murmured, “Better would be… Something solid. Like a brace or a ring…”

“I have both here.” Winter gestured to a pair of what looked like heavy gauntlets and then to two clear rings. “Although if you want discretion, I’d go with the rings. They might only be able to hold one charge each, though… Hmm.”

Cinder picked up the rings and held them up to her eye. Up close, Glynda could see there was space within each of them, the centers hollow. These looked made to be loaded with Dust.

“One charge per ring,” Cinder agreed, passing them off to Glynda. “Enough for an emergency.”

Glynda took them, more because Cinder was stiff with reluctance just by having them in her hand.

“If things go the way we want, they won’t be necessary,” Glynda said. Comforting wasn’t exactly her forte, but she tried anyway. Cinder glanced her way and forced out a smile to show her appreciation. “This is a last resort.”

“Yeah,” Cinder said, but she looked no more comfortable than before.

Hoping Winter had something reassuring to add, Glynda glanced her way, but Winter seemed wholly fixated on the rings in Glynda’s hand. Feeling like perhaps she was meant to be giving them over, Glynda quickly passed them to Winter, who accepted them without a hitch.

A hint of a smile tugged at her thin lips. “Rings? An interesting choice.”

Glynda raised a brow, and even Cinder managed to drag her gaze up from her own feet. There was a note of suggestion in Winter’s voice.

“I _am_ the captain of this ship. Though I admit I’ve never had to act in this capacity before, I suppose I would be willing to oversee the ceremony… Though if you don’t mind my saying, this is a rather unorthodox time for a wedding…”

Glynda laughed. It burst from her the moment the synapsis connected: Winter was making a joke to lighten the mood.

The notion of a wedding felt ridiculous, just absurd enough to be funny. But a glimpse of Cinder from the corner of her eye revealed that Winter’s jest had the exact opposite effect on her.

The color drained from her face until Cinder was pale as a sheet. Like Winter had just threatened to drop them both from the ship into the dawn-touched waves below, Cinder was all alarm and—discomfort?

“Definitely not,” she hurried to say. “It’s just the most logical choice—”

“Relax, Cinder,” Winter said, already focused on the rings in her hand instead. She turned them over as if getting a good idea of their dimensions. “It was only a joke.”

Cinder bit her lip, caught somewhere between accepting that and full-blown panic. Finally, she turned over her shoulder, managing to scoff softly. “A poor joke.”

“I thought it was funny,” Glynda defended.

“Your jokes are just as bad,” Cinder returned without a second’s hesitation. Banter suited her better than distress, and though her expression was unamused, her body relaxed fractionally. “You don’t get an opinion.”

 _“Regardless,”_ Winter said, a faint tilt to her lips still. “I should be able to give you both one good usage. It’s going to be Aura activated… I’m going to use a higher grade of Dust, which means it will be reactionary to your Aura. Envision a shield and you’ll have a shield.”

The opposite was left unsaid, but Glynda understood all the same.

“Versatile,” Glynda said.

“I’d like to give you both the best chance possible to adapt to whatever situation might arise,” Winter told them. “That being said, I aim to finish these by the time we reach Atlas. The ship is following an automatic route now so…”

It was just a matter of time.

“Prepare as best as we can,” Cinder finished for her.

Winter nodded. “Try to rest and recover while we have the chance. Once we arrive in Atlas, I doubt there will be much time to spare.”

A straight shot through the toughest terrain in Atlas to reach the volcanic lair which housed the machine… And if they made it that far, they’d still have to return to settle things with Lamia once and for all.

Glynda felt her soul shudder, an icy cold filling her chest.

She only hoped it wouldn’t end with blood.


	23. Chapter 23

The world was white.

It had been a long time since Cinder had last been in Atlas, and she found herself drawn to the windows of the ship the closer they got to the Atlesian coast. Snow flurries whipped at them through the night, and when the morning came, the sun shone weaker and weaker overhead, often obscured by long, grey clouds which rippled out from the horizon.

Once, crossing into Atlesian airspace with Glynda would have been the final touches on a lifelong aspiration. Now it only filled her with a subdued dread, knowing exactly what awaited them at the ends of the world.

Their flight north progressed with few events to mark the passage of time, a strange calm descending over the three of them even with Cinder’s mother a constant spectre behind them. There were moments when she’d dared closer, flying parallel with the ship, her molten eyes staring with deadly intent on the ship’s bridge. Through the windows, she must have seen Glynda—and, right next to her, Cinder.

Even scaled and bestial, Cinder could tell her mother was begging. Her stare held a plea Cinder let go unanswered, and each time, Lamia let out a fearsome roar before falling back, tailing them where Cinder couldn't see.

After the third time, she stopped trying, disappearing right before sunset to find a location to land for the night and then reappearing in the morning with the sun.

A routine none of them should have been acclimating to, but somehow, even Cinder couldn’t manage to stay anxious the entire time. For what felt like ages, she and Glynda had pushed forward without respite, and now there wasn’t a thing to do except rest. At times, it almost felt surreal: that a semblance of normalcy and comfort could exist in such close proximity to her mother’s festering rage.

While Glynda found it possible to sleep through most of the trip, Cinder was often left restless, wandering the halls for something to do or finding a secluded spot to call Emerald and Mercury. As expected, they were itching to depart Beacon—something about _friends_ and how much they’d been missed after they disappeared—but despite their protests, neither seemed ready to go against Cinder’s wishes.

She remembered how they’d worried when she’d confined them to the safety of her island retreat, telling them she’d be back. This time, neither doubted her promise to return and explain everything.

It was during her late night—or sometimes midday, when Glynda napped through the lull after lunch—wanderings that Cinder found herself alone with Winter. Mostly, their interactions were limited to when Glynda was present as well, the three of them taking meals together once the voyage was well underway and the initial rush had subsided. Then, Winter was pleasant. She and Glynda seemed to understand each other well, their similarities lending them an easy bond—not to mention their mutual distaste for General Ironwood’s particular way of doing things.

But when roaming the airship brought them together, their silences were deep as the rolling sea beneath them. Rather than settling, the dust between them swirled like the snow outside.

More than once, Cinder spotted Winter at the end of a hallway, speaking in low tones to the ship’s automated system and examining a panel which displayed the status of her craft. Their eyes always met, but neither mustered a word, not wholly uncomfortable but far from familiar. That Winter had more to say was obvious, but regardless of whether it owed to her dedication to professionalism or her inability to force her tongue, the only thing that passed between them was the subtle tang of Dust in the air right before they went back to what they’d been doing before.

It was all part of the strange routine forming between the three of them. Strange, but a much needed relief from the past couple months of hunting, being hunted.

When Winter finally called them both to the bridge to announce that they were only hours away from their stop, the news bordered on unwelcome. Arrival meant this unusual peace would vanish as they once again pit themselves against the clock, trying to seek out the machine, destroy it, and return before Cinder’s mother had scourged the world.

“You should be able to see the our destination soon,” Winter told them, punching numbers into the panel at the head of the bridge. “There’s a snow front moving in which is reducing visibility, but aside from the potential for rough weather on our way out of the city, I believe this will help us move without being noticed.”

Like it was becoming a second home for her, Glynda looked at ease where she was perched on one of the seats down below. She leaned back into the chair. “The snow will help cover our tracks.”

“An airship doesn’t _leave_ tracks,” Cinder quipped, though she knew very well what Glynda meant. Glynda rolled her eyes, and Cinder turned back toward the glass which separated her from the cold outside. The snow had picked up, the dark shape of her mother in the distance growing vaguer as they got closer to their destination. “But assuming your ship flies through the storm without a problem, this really is a blessing.”

Winter scoffed, but there was no venom to it. “Just because we don’t patrol to the north doesn’t mean we aren’t _able_ to. A storm like this isn’t going to be a problem.”

“So the only thing we need to do is prepare to land?” Glynda asked.

“Correct. Once we’ve landed, I’ll oversee the resupply of the ship to ensure we have enough to make the trip up north. We’ll have to wait until sunset—probably even later just to be safe—to embark from there, and then it’s just a matter of moving as swiftly as possible.” Winter paused in her work, glancing up as though something had just occurred to her. “I hope the two of you won’t mind… Operational security will require you not be present for the resupply. There are more public locations available for you to wait out the duration of our stay.”

While she spoke, she made sure to flicker between looking at each of them. Polite, considering it was obvious Cinder was the person she was talking to.

“I don’t mind,” Glynda answered. She straightened her legs and made a show of stretching. “I think I’d like a chance to walk around a little. Being cooped up has made me a little stir-crazy.”

Winter smiled a knowing smile. “A soldier’s first shore-leave is always bound to involve trouble. The city is almost completely empty after the evacuation efforts, so I trust that if you choose to sightsee, you don’t do anything… Mm, anything that you wouldn’t want me to know about.”

Cinder smothered a smile, leaning toward the window and watching the monochrome world outside drift by. That was a rather broad statement, and one that seemed appropriate for a leader to impart on a set of unruly subordinates. Considering the path of destruction that tended to trail after Glynda and Cinder, she supposed it wasn’t entirely unfair.

“I think we’ll manage,” Cinder said. “It’s only going to be a couple hours.”

“I’ll make sure Cinder doesn’t do anything illegal,” Glynda said, smirking in her direction.

“That would be appreciated, Glynda,” Winter said, smiling faintly while she continued to work at her station. Cinder might have been offended that the two of them had such little faith that she could control herself—had she not already idly considered what possibilities a completely empty Atlesian stronghold held. “I’ll come find the two of you once the resupply is completed and we can finish any last minute preparations. Which reminds me: Glynda, I’ve finished your rings.”

Glynda perked up in her seat before shooting a concerned look Cinder’s way. Cinder didn’t respond to it, keeping her eyes on the outside world.

“Already?” Glynda asked. Her seat squeaked. “I didn’t think you’d be done so soon.”

“I thought it prudent to get them to you as quickly as possible. Besides, I’ve had a great deal of time to work on them over this last week and a half.” Winter’s chair squeaked as well, and Cinder could only assume they had risen together. “If you’re ready to receive them, I can outfit you with them now.”

A pause. Then, “...Sure. Cinder?”

Cinder expected this. She schooled her voice into neutrality. “I’ll stay here.”

“It won’t take long,” Winter assured them.

Glynda’s boots were heavy across the floor, but Cinder sensed a beat of hesitation as she passed her to meet Winter. No doubt, she was remembering what Cinder had said before.

There was nothing else to say at this point, not when her feelings on the matter had been so clearly expressed. Anything else would have been dredging up the turbulent emotions which had begun to settle in the intermission between one crisis and another.

“Be back soon,” Glynda promised.

“I’ll be here,” Cinder returned, offering a wave without turning from the window.

The hiss of the door warned of their departure, the twin set of footsteps growing more distant until Cinder couldn’t hear them any longer. Once she was alone, she exhaled and finally pulled herself away from the glass.

Soon they’d be implementing Winter’s plan and heading north. Then it wouldn’t be long until she was forced to come face to face with her mother again.

She took what had been Glynda’s chair, feeling a crawl of nervous energy along her skin.

A week and a half of rest had made them all stronger. The leaps and bounds Glynda had improved—exchanging jokes with Winter and needling Cinder whenever possible—had been incredible to observe. Even Winter had lost some of her rigid composure, the sparkle returned to her eyes whenever she took the helm. Her confidence bred more in Glynda. The two of them exuded it.

But though she’d benefited from the downtime same as they had, Cinder’s confidence had yet to soar. She watched the shape of her mother in the distance, knowing that soon it would be up to her to bring her mother’s rage to heel.

She crossed her arms, taking a small comfort in the feel of them around her. The phantom pain which lurked in her ribs ebbed faintly, and she bit her lip.

Whether or not she believed she could do it, there was no room for failure here.

*

Entrance to the city went smoother than Cinder had expected.

Just as Winter had promised, not long after she and Glynda had returned, the sight of a pale white barrier among the grey tones of an expansive pine forest had appeared on the horizon. The scale of the dome was unlike anything Cinder had ever seen, and she remembered: Atlas cities were massive constructs of Dust and metal, which meant their defenses had to be equally impressive.

There was a brief radio conversation as they increased their speed toward the city, the barrier falling only thirty seconds before impact would have been inevitable. Lamia screamed, but before she could close the distance she’d been maintaining, the barrier rose behind them.

Cinder let out a tense breath as she watched the vague black and red shape of her mother circling overhead through the nearly opaque white barrier.

 _Not attacking._ At least for now.

Glynda followed her gaze, a concerned twist to her mouth. She twisted the chamber on one of the new Dust rings she wore, and the worry faded incrementally with each spin.

“Without sounding overly optimistic,” Winter said as she piloted them over the vast tangle of high walls and skyscrapers which made up the bulk of the city. “I think that went well.”

Resupply. Slipping away. The machine. And then…

Cinder nodded, and Glynda’s hand brushed hers. Smiling pulled the skin around her scars taut, but she was still beautiful and—and perhaps even a little reassuring.

Their destination became obvious as Winter wove between the towering buildings with expert precision. Beyond the concrete jungle, a more heavily fortified area was marked with signs and fences barring entrance. Rather than an afterthought, the base formed the heart of the city, the rest of it apparently springing up in gradual layers around this central point. Dozens of walls extended out from the middle, marking each expansion as more and more people flocked to the safety the military could provide in this harsh environment.

This was the truth at the center of Atlas: there could be no Atlas without the Atlesian military.

That sparkle in Winter’s eyes only grew brighter as she looked out over the place she’d called home for so long. Smiling, she said, “They’ve prepared a dock for us. We’ll be landing soon.”

That too Winter handled with a practiced ease, her ship slowing into a descent over the base. Below, hundreds of soldiers moved between control points, formations being held in preparation. Neither Cinder nor Glynda could take their eyes off the soldiers prepping below, the sheer number of troops taking them by surprise, especially when the city itself had looked so vacant.

“There’s so many of them,” Glynda whispered.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” Winter beamed, absolutely dazzling in her pride. “There’s twice this number standing at the ready as we speak.”

An army prepared for war. Hope and dread churned together in a dizzying mixture that left Cinder speechless. Glynda seemed to sense it, letting their hands touch once more. Cinder intertwined their fingers, the ring on her finger cold against Cinder’s heated flesh.

Landing was a quick affair, and sooner than Cinder thought possible, there was a swarm of soldiers on board, prepared to take every direction from Winter. She commanded them easily, clearly accustomed to her position, but managed to say very little about the actual operations before slipping towards Cinder and Glynda, who had been standing around like clueless civilians—which, to be fair, they were.

“I’ll have someone escort you to the perimeter of the base,” she told them, still managing not to look at Cinder as the only guilty party here. “There’s a reception area there for those trying to enter. You’ll find amenities there, and some shelter from the cold.”

And then they were being led from the ship by an overly-zealous soldier who kept looking at Cinder as if he were trying to place her face. International infamy had its downsides.

Thankfully, the idea of Cinder Fall being escorted onto the base by the esteemed Winter Schnee and flanked by the famous Glynda Goodwitch seemed too impossible for him to fathom, and they were able to avoid a scene as he loaded them up into a vehicle for transport. Here on the ground, Cinder could see Winter hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said there were even more soldiers than they’d seen from the air. She watched from the window as they drove, spying more and more appearing every moment.

Glynda was watching too, thumb and forefinger twisting one of her rings nervously again.  

Cinder elbowed her gently. “Stop it. That’s raw Dust you’re fidgeting with.”

Glynda glanced down like she hadn’t even noticed. “Can’t help it. Feels nice.”

“You need to try,” Cinder said. “No matter how well-made, that’s volatile. You could get seriously hurt.”

Like she really couldn’t help herself, Glynda gave the ring a final twist before tucking her hands into her lap, her fingers drumming across her thighs. Cinder took one of her hands instead. When Glynda started bouncing her leg, Cinder gave her hand a squeeze, almost apologetic and almost comforting.

All this activity after a period of doing nothing was weighing on Cinder’s nerves too, but a Dust-based explosion was likely to take off Glynda’s hand—if not more—regardless of her bountiful Aura.

When they reached the perimeter, Cinder and Glynda hopped out of the car and were directed toward the building. Even without the wind, the cold lanced right through Cinder’s jacket, chilling her flesh before her Aura could rebuff it. Glynda, who wore even less, squeezed Cinder’s hand and wrapped her other arm around herself.

“Let’s hurry inside,” Glynda said. Cinder thought she detected a hint of chattering teeth.

Stoking her Aura and sidling closer, she tried her best to warm her as they went. Right, first thing was first: warmer clothes.

There were more soldiers waiting inside for them, the chatter stopping as they entered and tried to locate the area meant for the public. They were helpfully pointed towards the front of the building by a woman coming in after them, shedding her heavy winter coat and hanging it on a peg to join her comrades. Cinder led the way, trying to avoid any more near misses on being recognized, but as they slipped away from the crowd, she grabbed one of the other coats which had been left behind.

“Cinder,” Glynda said, fixing her with a scowl.

Expecting this, Cinder answered immediately. “We’re _borrowing_ , Glynda. You’re going to need a coat if we’re going out.”

“Are we going out?” Glynda raised a brow when Cinder offered her the garment, but eventually conceded and put on the thick jacket. Zipping it up to the neck, Glynda looked like a pillow given vague human shape. “Winter said the city will be empty. There’s not exactly anything to do.”

“You need new clothes,” Cinder said. “And I need new shoes. Glass doesn’t mix well with snow.”

“Do glass slippers make practical sense in _any_ weather?”

“I’m ignoring you now in favor of hurrying this along. Come on, Glynda, we’re going shopping.”

“Shopping?” Glynda squinted. The revolving chamber on her left Dust ring went around once, twice, before she caught herself. “There’s no one to buy from.”

Any further protest died as Cinder pushed open the front door and the biting cold gusted in. It drew Glynda closer to her, eagerly chasing the warmth that rose from her skin in waves. Steam curled at corners of her smile, jagged teeth flashing in response to Glynda’s confusion.

“Trust me, Glynda.”

The sight of her smile and her words seemed to have the opposite effect. Glynda looked uncomfortable, her hands folding in front of her again.

“Mmm,” Glynda hummed, still keeping pace with her. “Alright, but Winter said…”

Cinder made a sound of dismissal. “I was there, Glynda. I remember.”

After that, the only sound was the muted tap of their shoes over the snow-dusted pavement. The wind whipped and howled outside, snow coming down thick, but the barrier had apparently been erected before the incoming storm could layer the city in a fresh coat of white. Where before they’d been able to see the distant shape of Lamia circling through the barrier high above, now all Cinder could see was the light of the dome.

Absently, Cinder thought Winter was right. A storm like this would heavily improve their chances of escaping unseen. It soothed her nerves somewhat.

Even shielded from the weather, as Glynda and Cinder moved farther from the base and found themselves among the massive commercial constructs, the wind picked up. It tunneled through the skyscrapers like a powerful ocean current. Flaring her Aura more to keep out the chill, she led the way past empty cars and abandoned complexes.

“They really did evacuate everyone,” Glynda murmured, looking around. To see the city stripped of its inhabitants made her edge closer to Cinder’s side—or maybe that was the heat Cinder was producing. “Hey, I thought… You know, you and your mother were weak to the same things? Aren’t you cold?”

“We’re not _exactly_ the same,” Cinder responded without missing a beat. “I _am_ more human than she is. I use more Aura when I’m cold, but otherwise… I did live in Atlas for a while, you know. This isn’t a problem for me.”

“Is there anywhere you _haven’t_ lived?”

“I was never partial to Mistral.” A great deal of her business with the White Fang had been made there, and regardless of the country’s charm, it had left a bad taste in her mouth. “Besides, you’re lucky I’m so well-travelled. I have just the place in mind for us.”

Glynda made a face, her cheeks burning red with the cold. “And here I thought we were lost.”

Cinder clicked her tongue. _“I_ know where I’m going. You’re making it very tempting to leave you somewhere and let you find your way back on your own, though.”

“I’d find you,” Glynda shot back playfully. “I always do.”

Ah yes. Witch senses and all. Cinder lifted her chin and said, “I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be romantic or threatening, Glynda.”

Glynda elbowed her, the effect severely undermined by the fact that she had a solid three inches of coat between her bony elbow and Cinder’s ribs. “Knowing you, you’ll take it as both.”

“I’m _really_ not sure how I should take that.”

It was funny what the dome could do. When all around them they could see only white, the city was the only thing that felt real. Like they’d been enclosed in a snowglobe, their worries felt distant. It would only take one good shake to shatter the stillness, but no matter how much she held her breath, the resounding impact of her mother’s strength against the barrier never came.

Exhaling, Cinder’s worries escaped in clouds of white—at least for the moment.

In the meantime, the area grew more colorful, the bland greys and blacks giving way to the market district of this portion of the city. Various signs still flashed advertising coffee shops and designer makeup. Minus the crowds of people that had been here the last time Cinder had come, it was exactly like she remembered it.

Which meant she knew exactly where to go to end up a strip of road flanked on both sides by clothing stores for nearly a mile.

Glynda’s lips stayed parted as she stared up at the shops and signs all around them, barely even paying attention to the ground beneath her feet. Cinder looped their arms if only to keep her moving, but silently wondered at Glynda’s apparent awe. For a huntress as accomplished as she was, she had to have travelled a fair bit herself. But here she was, acting like it was the first time she’d ever seen anything like this.

“You’ve never been to Atlas?” Cinder asked mildly, perusing the names on the signs in search of a company she liked.

“No, no, I’ve been before,” Glynda quickly corrected. “I don’t remember it looking like this. I think I was too focused on my mission to even notice.”

No doubt thanks to the hollow thing in her chest. Cinder pursed her lips, tugging Glynda a little closer and spotting what she’d been looking for. “Well, get a good look now. We’re the only people in the world who will ever see this city like this.”

“I know,” Glynda said, her voice soft with emotion. She didn’t protest as Cinder brought her to the front door of a particularly expensive shop. “I’m glad I’m here wit—what are you doing?”

Glynda frantically caught Cinder by the bicep as she pulled her arm back to elbow through the glass portion of the door. In an instant, the affection from before vanished, washed away in a flood of apprehension.

Cinder raised a brow. “Going inside?”

“By breaking the window?” Glynda put herself between the door and Cinder, defiantly blocking her path. “I told Winter I wouldn’t let you do anything illegal.”

“Define illegal,” Cinder said with a roll of her eyes. “To me, that means getting caught.”

“See, this is why you’re literally wanted in every country in Remnant.” Glynda shook her head. “We’re not breaking in.”

 _“Well._ If _someone_ was to telekinetically lift the tumblers in that lock, I’m sure they could get in without breaking anything, and no one would ever know it.”

Cinder gave an alluring smile, one that was only met with a hard scowl.

“That’s still breaking in,” Glynda said stubbornly. Cinder could feel the pleasant expression melting from her as she let out a low groan, rolling her eyes again. “Winter said—”

“You seem very convinced Winter has never done anything like this,” Cinder retorted.

“She hasn’t.” Glynda arched a brow. “How would you know, anyway?”

Cinder straightened, averting her eyes for a split second before composing herself. Right, she was still not ready to touch that conversation with a ten foot pole. After a second of floundering for something to say, she managed, _“Everyone_ who joins the Atlesian military has a rebellious stage. Especially if they come from a background like hers.”

Glynda gave her a look that was more doubtful than suspicious, and she thanked whatever powers might be for that.

“Trust me on this,” Cinder said.

“You said that earlier.”

Talk about disappointingly little faith. Well, maybe she deserved that, all things considered. Regardless, she tilted her chin up, trying to make herself appear tall and imposing. “Glynda Goodwitch, you have about five seconds to either open that door or get out of the way. Your morals are not going to make me suffer from cold feet.”

Glynda’s lips pulled in a smile. “You really want a repeat of Forever Fall Forest? You _just_ told me you use more Aura in these conditions.”

“I’ll still have more than enough to deal with you.” Cinder’s Aura blazed even hotter to prove her point, the snow at their heels beginning to melt. She smiled as well, adrenaline making her limbs feel light and twitchy, ready for the clash. How long had it been since they’d done this? Cinder had missed the fights she could enjoy.

From the way Glynda was leaning into this just as much as she was, Cinder imagined she wasn’t the only one. For a moment, neither of them moved, not blinking, refusing to look away until—a sound like a gunshot ripped through the silence of the abandoned city, the clash of Aura against Aura explosive.

Fully recharged after being run ragged for so long, the two of them blinked across the street fast enough to whip up a whirlwind of powdered snow. Glass heels clicked against brick as Cinder dodged up and away from a telekinetic blast, Glynda in hot pursuit, the buildings trembling as they rebounded from wall-face to wall-face, chasing each other up, up, up.

Laughter bubbled like magma in Cinder’s throat as she lashed out with hot flames, Glynda’s Aura sapping them away before they could even warm her skin. In response, Glynda swung her arm and blasted Cinder down, her springboard of brick stolen out from under her feet.

Before she could hit, plumes of fire erupted from the soles of her feet, her touchdown on the street below soft and steady. A hiss of air was the only warning Cinder had to kick herself away before Glynda impacted where she’d been standing only seconds before, a meteor crashing from orbit. The pavement groaned and fractured, but Glynda only smirked, throwing herself after Cinder with reckless abandon.

“Can’t keep up, Glynda?” Cinder goaded, landing on the hood of a car, the metal crunching beneath her. Before she could snap out another taunt, the car itself lifted, unbalancing her and sending her scrambling for footing.

The sidewalk rushed up beneath her, but not fast enough that she couldn’t catch herself. Smooth as silk, she flipped backwards, open flames held in the palms of her hands, surging towards Glynda with a rush of Aura. Their collision reverberated through the empty streets, Glynda’s Aura smothering the flames pressed hard against it.

They darted away as quickly as they came together, parting and reuniting like dancers, the music inaudible to anyone but them. The tempo soared with each clash, but there was no sign of an end to the crescendo with both of them funneling more power into the fight. Glynda lifted a bench sitting outside one of the shops and flung it at Cinder, but she smashed through it and burned scorch marks into the face of a shop, Glynda only just escaping the heat.

With an ample application of Aura, Glynda soared high above, spinning midair to face Cinder and pulling the advertisement board for a popular chain from one of the buildings. It was as big as she was, and when it came smashing down on the spot Cinder stood, the crack of metal and electronics against her Aura rattled all of her teeth.

 _Mistake_ , she thought, not missing a beat, smiling even if her Aura shuddered.

Cinder shot forward, ready to catch Glynda the moment she landed, but Glynda seemed to realize it instinctually, propelling herself toward a storefront as she fell. It wasn’t enough to fool Cinder, who adjusted and took advantage of that crucial second right before landing where Glynda was still weightless.

Tackling her with the force of a freight train, Cinder held tight to what she could grab, Glynda tumbling back with Cinder on top of her, the two of them scrambling for traction and a position they could exploit.

Glass shattered, and the brightness of the dome faded into shadows as their struggle sent them through the window of the shop, bodies twisting among the racks until they finally came to a halt. Cinder pressed her knee into Glynda’s elbow, pinning the arm in place as she grappled for the other with a forge-hot grip. Glynda strained her head up to draw in a taut breath right before Cinder bent to steal it from her lips, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears.

Eager and buzzing, Cinder tasted nothing but sweet victory in Glynda’s mouth. A strength she could never hope to match broke her grip on Glynda’s arm, but rather than pushing her away, scarred fingers hooked behind her neck to pull her closer.

“I told you—” Cinder gasped between fevered kisses, both hands cupping Glynda’s face. “—I was more than enough to deal with you.”

Cold digits tangled in the dark hair at the base of her skull, and Glynda only replied, “Lucky shot.”

If it had been luck that put Cinder in the position she was in now, she wasn’t complaining, her ragged inhales matched by Glynda’s, the rasp of nails over her neck electrifying. A shift beneath her pushed her farther down, settling over powerful thighs as Glynda sat up, the distant sound of glass cracking beneath them staunchly ignored.

Glynda yanked her other arm out from under Cinder’s knee, hand finding the small of her back to pull her flush against her front. A belated regret rose in Cinder at the puffy jacket caught between them, and her grip shifted on Glynda’s jawline, dropping until Glynda’s pulse fluttered beneath her palm. Her thumb pressed up beneath her chin and forced her head back.

Jade eyes with blown pupils stared back at Cinder, no amount of uncertainty able to mask the thrill within them. The telltale signs of speech were met with a harder press of Cinder’s thumb, Glynda’s words dying before they could reach her tongue.

“Stay still,” Cinder murmured, her other hand dropping to the zipper of Glynda coat.

Dragging it down, Cinder was rewarded with the feel of Glynda against her, a wave of heat greeting her as the jacket parted. She fit neatly between the open sides, fingers rising to slide over Glynda’s shoulder. She bowed her head to kiss the side of Glynda’s neck she wasn’t actively holding.

It was a chaste kiss by all accounts, but Glynda stiffened beneath her, throat rumbling in a surprised purr beneath Cinder’s palm. An encouraging reaction, but… She paused before continuing, relaxing her grip to allow Glynda to lower her head if she so chose. Instead, Glynda remained perfectly still.

“How does this feel?” Cinder asked, brushing her lips beneath Glynda’s ear.

Glynda swallowed thickly. “Good.”

Another kiss, punctuated by the gentle nip of teeth. “Good?”

“I like that.” Glynda sucked in a thin breath. Her fingers tightened in the fabric of Cinder’s coat. “Do you?”

“I don’t do things I don’t enjoy,” she responded, raking her nails over Glynda’s shoulder blade, the fabric of her cape and shirt bunching. Glynda twitched beneath her, one leg readjusting, but otherwise stayed perfectly still. “Even if sex doesn’t appeal to me, there are other things that do. Like this, for example.”

Like the period at the end of her statement, Cinder placed an open-mouthed kiss at the juncture of Glynda’s jaw and her neck. It was met with a muted sound of approval, wordless but infinitely telling.

“I’m asexual, Glynda,” Cinder hummed, soft and affectionate against Glynda’s rising pulse. “That doesn’t mean I hate _all_ types of intimacy. ...This coat, on the other hand…”

Cinder picked at it, and not even a second later, Glynda’s touch disappeared from her neck and back. She began to shrug out of the offending garment, tipping her head down to press her mouth to Cinder’s temple. There was no hiding the immediate smile which tilted Cinder’s lips—one which was cut short the second Glynda froze and gurgled out something intelligible.

“Glynda?” Cinder pulled away, taking in Glynda’s startled expression.

“We broke the window.” All the color drained from Glynda’s face. “Cinder, we broke the _city.”_

“Wha—”

The next moment was a flurry of Glynda throwing Cinder from her lap, Cinder landing face first on the ground, and Glynda jumping to her feet. Cool, broken glass pressed into Cinder’s cheek. For a moment, she considered never rising, heat which had nothing to do with pleasure climbing up her neck.

Cinder could’ve counted the number of times she’d been so thoroughly shrugged off on one hand.

 _I’m going to kill her,_ Cinder told herself, her hands balling into fists. _Violently._

*

After a solid twenty minutes of assigning and reassigning blame for the particular state of the street—which was, comparatively, _not even that bad_ —the clean up began. Owing to their individual strengths, Glynda made up the entirety of the effort. She flipped the car they’d overturned and forced the dents in shape of Cinder’s heels from its hood. There was nothing her Semblance could do for the broken bench, but Cinder’s helpful suggestion of simply burning it was still met with a sharp glare over her shoulder.

So Cinder remained behind, allowing Glynda to work, slighted and more than a little bitter about it all.

After throwing herself into the hunt, after chasing Cinder across Remnant without ever even seeing the people and places trampled underneath— _now_ she wanted to care? Collateral damage was the implication of Glynda doing _anything_ , and with so little destruction to speak of, Cinder couldn’t help but scoff at how much she cared.

Winter’s warning was surely at the heart of that, a fact which kept Cinder from mentioning it at all. Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t be sore about the unsalvageable shift in the mood.

As Glynda busied herself with collecting all the bits and pieces from the sign which had been shattered when she’d tried to crush Cinder with it, Cinder found the control box at the rear of the shop and flipped it on. The lights came to life immediately, a little tune starting up as the store’s ambient music kicked on as well.

It did little to soothe the indignation of it all, but Cinder supposed it didn’t hurt.

Now that she could actually see, the layout of the store became more apparent. Like most of the other stores in the heart of the city’s shopping district, this one boasted a wide selection, most of which was aimed at unsuspecting tourists who’d been caught off guard by the unforgiving climate.

As such, it was easy to find an array of waterproof winter boots, thick-soled and fur lined. There was hardly any need for the most expensive pair, but Cinder was feeling more than a little snubbed, and that was reason enough to pick the sort that would survive a trek across all of Atlas and back again. Besides, the gold-detailed black boots paired well with her coat.

From there, it was only a matter of finding a thick pair of socks and making the exchange, her heels tucked beneath her arm. Cinder was immediately glad she didn’t wait—her Aura didn’t have to work so hard to keep the feeling in her toes when their only protection from the cold was glass.

When she’d finished that and found that Glynda still wasn’t through, Cinder huffed and moved on, passing an array of glass display cases full of various types of jewelry to reach the women’s department.

At least this way, she could mitigate the disaster that would be Glynda choosing her own clothes. Left to browse alone, Cinder took her time perusing the racks, picking out a warm turtleneck to supplant the sleeveless one she currently wore beneath her coat. For Glynda, she choose a thick wool sweater and an accompanying fleece, white and violet respectively.

She was just moving onto gloves and scarves when the sound of a thousand shards of glass clinking together rose above the gentle melody of the store’s radio.

“Cinder?”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Cinder stood on her toes to push herself farther above the racks, already missing the extra inches afforded by her heels. “Are you done with this charade yet?”

Seeing Glynda there with both hands outstretched as she arranged all the pieces into the vague shape of a rectangle was answer enough. To emphasize this, Glynda shot her a pleading look and said, “I need you to melt this down for me. I can’t put it back together with just my Semblance.”

Cinder didn’t move, blinking slowly. “Are you serious?”

Glynda nodded vigorously, biting her lip.

Cinder dropped down to her heels and breathed deep for a moment. This felt like a dream sequence, too surreal to actually be happening. Any minute now and she was going to wake up and return to some bleak, hopeless reality. When it didn’t happen after ten seconds, Cinder consigned herself to the fact that melting down glass to repair a window _was_ her reality now.

“I don’t understand _why_ you are so worried about this.” Cinder huffed, making her way back toward the front of the shop where Glynda waited and throwing down her selections on the nearby counter. “No one could prove it was us.”

“Winter would know,” Glynda answered immediately. “I told her I’d keep you from doing anything illegal.”

There it was again.

“You said that already,” Cinder returned, her Aura flaring in preparation. “Before, when I only wanted to break one thing. Remember that?”

Glynda chewed her lip again. “Shut up.”

_Perfect rebuttal, Glynda._

Superheating the glass until it began to lose it shape, Cinder watched the globs of molten glass twist through the air. Glynda tried to compact it, but with the frigid breeze rolling in from outside, it was hardening again faster than she could flatten out the imperfections.

When it set, it only looked vaguely rectangular. Wobbles ran up along its body, the thickness varying from spot to spot.

Glynda’s Semblance lifted it a little higher as if to inspect it, her frown more than telling.

Cinder stood to the side, observing the whole ordeal. “Don’t make that face. It’s fine, Glynda.”

“Are you sure?”

“If it fits, it’s fine.” Anything to move this along. “Hurry up, I need you to try these on.”

Glynda looked up from where she was trying to cover the opening in the wall with the misshapen glass, arching a brow at the clothes laid out on the counter. “What are those?”

It was crude work, just barely fitting to the edges, but Cinder wasn’t as concerned as Glynda was with it being perfect. Instead, she was more than happy to pick up the things she’d selected and offer a proud smile. “We came here to get warmer clothes, didn’t we? We can finally get you out of that shirt.”

“Are we stealing them?” As soon as the window was set in place, Glynda’s hands fell, intertwining in front of her.

Cinder made a face, gesturing to the empty store around them. “I hadn’t planned on paying, no. You know, on account of the absent employees. Is that going to be a prob— _Glynda!”_

Clothing hangers clattered against the ground as Cinder dropped what she’d been holding, surging forward and startling Glynda hard enough for her to flinch. Ripping Glynda’s hands apart and squeezing her wrists, Cinder held her breath, her eyes glued to the coldly glowing ring on Glynda’s right hand.

The air grew colder, their breaths coming as white clouds even while inside the store. The blue Dust gave a final hum of energy before it began to dull once more, returning to its inactive state.

“You can’t keep playing with these rings!” Cinder snapped when the glow had died completely. She’d been _spinning_ them again, the look of surprise on her face saying she hadn’t even realized. “You’ll lose your hands!”

Dust was dangerous. Even Cinder, who’d worked with it for years now, preferred the simpler forms. Sewing it into clothing took less Dust, and less Dust spread over more space meant the chance of an explosion was severely decreased. But the rings Winter had made were highly compact, highly responsive, and—

Glynda averted her eyes, her hands twitching into fists. “I’m nervous.”

Cinder scoffed. “You’re making _me_ nervous! You could kill us both like this.”

Green eyes narrowed as a flash of aggravation passed over Glynda’s stern features. She yanked her hands away, squeezing them at her sides, and said, “I know that. What else am I supposed to do? I told you. I’m nervous.”

Her words were clipped, an undeniable frustration lurking in every blunt sentence.

Why was _Glynda_ the one getting mad? Cinder huffed, put her hands on her hips, and retorted: “Maybe just _don’t_ spin your rings? There’s not even anything to _be_ nervous about.”

“I can’t just _not!_ You can’t tell me to just deal with it.”

“If you don’t, you’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Stop telling me that! _I know,_ Cinder. I’m not stupid. I understand it’s dangerous. But you’re just saying the same thing over and over again instead of trying to help. You’re making it even worse!”

 _Help_. Cinder hadn't even realized she needed it. Glynda stood ramrod straight, every muscle fraught with tension. Her eyes snapped accusations over the thin rim of her glasses, her jaw set, thousands of words trapped in her furious expression.

Defensive instinct made Cinder stand straighter in response, her chest puffing out. She couldn’t understand why Glynda was fighting her like this, but something caught her eye, made her bite back the snappy rebuke on the tip of her tongue. Glynda looked ready to explode—not from anger, but from being drawn too thin, stress bringing out the veins along her throat.

Was this about the mess they’d left of the street? The clothes? That couldn’t be it. There was something else. Something she, usually so concise and blunt, was failing to communicate. Something Cinder was failing to understand.

Tempering herself into something softer, Cinder forced herself to adopt a more open stance, letting her hands fall to her side. Glynda didn’t move at all, frozen in place, but Cinder could tell even now she was itching to put her hands together and twist.

“Okay.” Cinder exhaled sharply, closing her eyes on the inhale. When she opened them again, her teeth weren’t grit quite so tight. “I’m sorry. Is there a reason this is so important to you?”

Like finally finding the right key to a heavy lock, the question prompted a flow of quick, agitated words. “It’s a stim. I don’t want to hurt myself, but…it feels nice. I feel better, and you just keep telling me I’m wrong for that when I’m already frustrated. Winter and I just became friends, and I don’t want to disappoint her. But you aren’t helping me—you’re just treating me like I’m stupid, like I don't know any better. I’m autistic, not a child!”

Cinder felt her brows shoot up, but whatever reassuring words she wanted to say died in her throat as she realized how out of her depth she was.

Glynda grasped her wrists in front of her, clearly trying not to touch the rings. After a moment, she made a noise of exasperation and lifted her hand to the notch in her ear, squeezing it between thumb and forefinger.

Regardless of how unfamiliar she was with what exactly stimming entailed, Cinder did know Glynda. And she knew that she had upset her. The pieces were finally falling into place on just how.

Swallowing, Cinder said, “Glynda, I didn’t mean to… I definitely wasn’t trying to say you’re stupid. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

Glynda acknowledged her words with a huff, but otherwise didn’t move. Her eyes dropped to the floor, still holding an edge of unhappiness. “You did. I’m not stupid. Just nervous. And frustrated. And mad.”

Taking a step forward, Cinder bridged the gap between them delicately. When she laid her hand lightly over Glynda’s forearm, she half-expected her to pull away from her touch like she’d done just moments before, but Glynda merely frowned down at Cinder’s hand.

“I know. I’m sorry.” That earned her another huff. Trying again, Cinder asked, “Is… Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?”

“Help me figure out something else.” Glynda pinched her earlobe, running her thumb across the notch over and over again. “I can’t just _not do anything_.”

Considering this was the first time Glynda had done anything like this, Cinder wasn’t exactly sure where to start. What would help in place of turning highly charged Dust? Scanning the store around them for something that might suffice, Cinder recalled the jewelry counter she’d passed earlier.

“Um...Would another ring work?”

For a moment, Glynda’s fingers staggered over her earlobe. Then: “Maybe. Oz got me a ring when I was young. I didn't really use it that much.”

That didn’t sound promising, but Cinder was willing to try if Glynda was. Besides, many things had changed since Glynda was younger; maybe this would be one of them. “...Do you want to try another one now?”

Glynda thought long and hard.

Cinder sucked in a deep breath. “I could… Pay for it. Would that be okay?”

Not that she was in desperate _need_ of money, but the principle of it would have been enough to make her gag had it been anyone but Glynda. As it was, there was only the slightest twinge to her pride, swiftly set aside in favor of more important things.

The offer eased some of the indecision from Glynda, and finally she said, “Yeah, okay.”

“Can I carry the rings while we’re looking?”

Glynda slid them off and slipped them into her own pocket. “I can carry them.”

That didn’t sound up for debate, but as long as there was no chance of Glynda accidentally touching them, it didn’t matter. With that settled, Cinder turned without a word and led them back towards the jewelry section of the store. Glynda was right behind her the whole time, her hands intertwining, fingers tapping over her own knuckles.

The desire to take one of Glynda’s hands in her own went unanswered as Cinder catalogued the tension lining each of Glynda’s movements and realized that it probably wouldn’t have helped.

Instead, they made their way to the glass cases near the back, the lights within reflecting off each chain and pendant. The rings were a quick find, and Cinder only had to hesitate by the lock which would open the case for Glynda to step up beside her and place a palm over it. The tumblers clicked, and when Glynda returned her hand, Cinder was able to slide the door open without damaging anything.

“Is there anything specific?” she asked, bending to get on level with the case, surveying the adornments within.

Glynda stood just behind her, staring into the distance like trying to recall something. “Oz gave me a spinner ring. It had gears on it.”

Cinder was familiar with the design, but before she’d thought it was purely aesthetic. “Is that good for… Um, stimming?”

“Yeah.”

Sensing that Glynda wasn’t particularly enjoying her questions—and filing away the irony in that for another time—Cinder turned her attention to the rings before her. The case had a wealth of options, but most of them were simply jewelry.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, she was about to ask whether a regular ring would work when she spotted them: at the very front of the display was a small set of stands holding thicker rings. Cinder reached for them and felt herself breathe a sigh of relief when the one she touched spun with the soft sound of metal turning.

Grabbing the lot and straightening, Cinder set them out on top of the glass counter. “What about these?”

The effect was immediate. Glynda stepped forward to examine them with open interest, and Cinder backed up, allowing her the space to inspect the rings. Her fingers hovered just above the stands, apparently uncertain which to pick, before finally deciding on a silver one. The outer band was engraved with simple geometric patterns, and Glynda ran her fingers along them, feeling every rivet and carved texture.

She seemed to approve, and slid it onto her finger, the fit obvious. She gave it several twists, and Cinder watched as some of the edginess evaporated from her, the set of her shoulders relaxing incrementally.

“Good?” Cinder asked.

“Good,” Glynda agreed, turning the ring round and round.

From here, Cinder wasn’t sure exactly what she was supposed to do. Glynda seemed wholly devoted to the repetitive movement, offering no direction.

Finally, Cinder said, “I’ll be right back.”

Glynda didn’t protest, so she turned and wound her way back up to the front where she’d dropped the things she’d picked out. Taking her time in collecting them, she pursed her lips, glancing down at her boots. She’d ripped the tag off and left it on the floor when she’d decided these were the ones she wanted, but…

 _Paying_ meant going to find it.

Replaying the look of utter frustration on Glynda’s face was enough to make her slink off towards the shoe section. Now that she’d seen just how much it had affected her, Cinder had to admit making Glynda clean up their shared mess on her own wasn’t one of her best moves, never mind what came afterwards.

Cinder located the little scrap of paper, idly noting the price she’d overlooked before, and started back with clothes and tag in hand.

In the brief time she’d been gone, Glynda had only moved slightly. She was seated in one of the stools behind the counter meant for the sales associates, still focused on her new ring. Cinder approached without fanfare, setting the things she’d picked out down on the counter and then sliding around to find a stool near Glynda.

If nothing else, Glynda had shed that look of hovering on the edge of an explosion. Turn by turn, she was calming herself, and Cinder supposed the only thing to do was to let her. There were worse things, she supposed, than sitting by her girlfriend for a while.

A check of her Scroll every now and then was the only proof of the passage of time. It had been two hours since they’d first landed and Winter had sent them off on their own. Which meant that by now, the preparations should be nearing completion. It was also almost dusk, which meant the chance for her mother to attempt to break through the barrier around them was quickly expiring.

If she didn’t do it before the sun fell, their escape was assured.

That thought was a comfort, and before Cinder could follow the train to its inevitable end—her meeting with her mother—Glynda let out a soft sigh.

For the first time since she’d slipped the spinner ring on her finger, Glynda pulled her hand away from it, setting both in her lap with a note of finality. Cinder wasn’t sure whether this was an invitation to talk or whether Glynda still needed time, but Glynda answered for her when she said, “I’m alright now.”

Spinning in the stool, Cinder faced her completely, looking her up and down. Her body language was telling, barely a trace of rigidity left in her. “You’re sure?”

Glynda nodded, glancing down at her ring, and Cinder followed her gaze.

Clearing her throat, Cinder said, “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“I know. You already said that.”

That was the first time she’d been criticized—however lightly—for apologizing _too_ _much_. Cinder didn’t take it personally. “Yes, well. I have everything here. The register should be operable since, you know, everything else is on.”

She gestured at the lights humming above them. The store’s ambient music was still playing from some hidden speaker.

“So whenever you’re ready to try these on, we can ... _pay for them_ here.”

The register on top of the glass case was thin and about as advanced as cash registers went. Nothing out of the ordinary for Atlas, and it meant that whenever they wanted to, payment was just a matter of scanning Cinder’s Scroll.

Glynda slid out of her stool to pick at the clothes Cinder had selected for her.

“These are my colors,” she pointed out.

Cinder flipped her hair over one shoulder, straightening in her seat. “I shop sensibly, Glynda.”

That pulled a slight smile from her. Cinder watched as she tested the fabric between thumb and forefinger, apparently not displeased. As smug as that made her feel, her thoughts lingered, words forming slowly in her throat.

“Glynda,” Cinder said. “Before. You said you were stimming?”

Glynda looked up, nodding.

“Um. I’m not… Entirely sure what that means.”

One pale brow rose. “Are you asking?”

Cinder leaned forward, setting her elbows on the glass counter. She intertwined her fingers, flexing them out and in once. “If you don’t mind.”

Mimicking her, Glynda rested against the display. “It’s something you do…when you’re excited or bored or when there’s too much going on. Sometimes you do it just to feel good, or to comfort yourself. There’s a lot of different reasons to stim, and different people stim differently. Everybody stims _sometimes_ , autistic or not—we just do it more. Need it more, I guess.”

Her fingers drifted toward her new ring, giving it a slow twist. “Sounds and repeated movements. _You_ tap your fingers a lot when you're agitated. Stuff like that. Most people don't even really notice, but we have different ones and do it so much more, so…”

Glynda smiled. Cinder watched the movement of her fingers. “And spinning is yours?”

“I think so. I like the movement. And feeling the engraving. Fiddling with it feels nice.”

Now it was Cinder’s turn to arch a brow. “You _think_?”

Glynda shrugged casually, but it seemed forced. “Well. You’re not supposed to be able to stop someone’s stimming. Not _really_ . Trying to stop someone from stimming isn't good for them, and it'll just result in them finding a _different_ stim. Plus, there’s no _reason_ to stop it, unless it's a harmful stim, of course—and even then, you can only replace it with another.

“When I was diagnosed, I didn’t really have one. Growing up, I was offered a lot of different options, but I wasn’t interested in any of them. I wasn't doing any of the typical sensory stuff, and I never really started, either. I just didn’t think that was a big part of my experience with autism, but now I think I might have been wrong.”

Glynda smiled, and it was good to see the good-natured humor back on her face. “I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, if you couldn't tell.”

Cinder could. “Can you… Develop a stim? Or I guess the need to?”

Glynda made a face, but contrary to Cinder’s fears, it wasn’t offended. Instead, she merely looked bemused. “Maybe? I have no idea--you just kind of..always stim. I mean, you can find new kinds of stims, for sure. I do it when I'm overstimulated or anxious, so for me, anything I associate with comfort can be a stim. Anything soothing, like this.”

Glynda held up her hand, showcasing the ring on one scarred finger.

“You like the movement,” Cinder repeated, and Glynda nodded in confirmation.

“I can focus on that. The feel of it.”

“Okay, but… You said you didn’t have any stims when you were younger? I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you stim… Unless I just didn’t realize it.”

Glynda frowned. “Well. Like I said, I didn't think I had stims. But looking back, now I think I was stimming all my life. In a way. Uh, or...I guess I was kind of doing the opposite? It's confusing.”

It only took the subtle movement of Glynda’s hand toward her chest for Cinder to catch on.

“The void?”

“I think so.” Glynda grimaced. “I didn't know it as a kid. Or even up until I met you. But it makes sense, right? Any time I was angry or nervous or whatever, I could just draw on the Witch soul. And it was always ready to be used. Always effective. When I needed to stim, I could literally just suffocate the emotions that made me feel that way. I wasn't using a healthy stim, I was just drowning any bad feelings I had. And I think I learned to use it for other times too. Eventually I just learned to use it for everything.”

A vice tightened around Cinder’s ribs. She reached out for Glynda, fingertips ghosting over the back of her hand. Scarred fingers flexed to allow Cinder’s to slip between them and offer a squeeze.

Glynda had said her life had been empty. A hollow life, devoid of anything to mark its continuation.

For a Witch, the simple sensation of life was always held at an arm’s reach, but Glynda had been denying herself even the briefest touch without ever truly realizing. A learned response, one that drew on the deathly peace her soul brought and allowed it to cloak her in a thick haze nothing could penetrate.

Cinder’s thumb rubbed circles over the curve of Glynda’s. Between two of her fingers, Cinder could feel the cool metal of the spinner ring. “Do you think you can unlearn it? You don’t _need_ the void. Maybe you wouldn’t have to...”

“You said it yourself: Witches struggle with the void regardless.” Glynda gave a small, rueful smile. “So I don’t think it’s that simple.”

She was right, of course. Cinder knew the stories, had passed them onto Glynda herself. But after seeing it so many times, after hearing Glynda talk about the great sections of her life it had simply consumed, Cinder couldn’t help but wish.

Her chair’s legs scuffed over the floor as she scooted it closer, her head falling upon Glynda’s shoulder. Cinder’s eyes stayed locked on their intertwined hands. “That seems like a running theme with the two of us.”

Glynda rested her own head on Cinder’s. “Tell me about it.”

And there was still more to come, of that Cinder was sure. The city remained frozen in time only because the outside world was obscured by white. Their snowglobe, fragile and temporary. As soon as they left, there would be no respite until Cinder convinced her mother to put an end to this hunt.

Drinking in the last of this peace while she could, Cinder turned her face into Glynda’s shoulder. Inhaling deeply, she savored the moment, the gentle lilt of ambient music the only thing passing between them.

Then, reluctantly: “We should probably start thinking about getting back.”

Glynda shifted against her, head turning to press a kiss to the side of her head. Coincidentally, it landed on one of the stumps of Cinder’s horns. A habitual twist of discomfort sunk into Cinder’s gut before she could push it away.

Lifting her head, she pressed her forehead to Glynda’s instead.

Glynda touched the clothes laid out on the counter and said, “We still need to try these on, don’t we?”

“I’d like that, yes.”

“We’re still paying?”

Clicking her tongue, Cinder said,  “If we must.”

Scarred fingers squeezed her own. “Okay, good.”

Pulling apart was an act of slow disentanglement and lingering looks. Cinder even caught Glynda sighing wistfully as they finally parted, Cinder sliding off the stool to begin collecting their would-be purchases.

They still needed accessories: gloves, scarves, and hats. Just before Glynda had called her over earlier, Cinder had been eying a particular knit cap in the soft purple of her coat’s breast, and she fully intended to return for it while Glynda tried on the things here. Before she could though, Glynda caught her by the arm, a dusting of color over her sharp features.

Her lips quirked in an unsteady but undeniably fond smile. “You know, I thought about it a lot and… I don’t think this is my first stim aside from the void.”

Cinder raised a brow, setting their things back down on the glass display. “Oh?”

“Well, there’s…” Glynda’s free hand rose to her earlobe, thumb passing over the notch there. Cinder recognized the movement instantly, remembering how she’d seen Glynda do it many times before. “I started doing it after we fought in Forever Fall. It felt good because I knew I could beat you, no matter what you did to me. It kept me focused on winning.”

Golden eyes narrowed. “I don’t think _that’s_ —”

“But, um. After a while... I just ended up thinking of you when I did it. It’s become…very comforting.”

Cinder’s mouth snapped shut, all the vitriolic defense fizzling out on her caught tongue. For a moment she just stared, Glynda shifting timidly beneath the weight of her gaze.

“Glynda, that is,” Cinder stepped a little closer, leaning in, never breaking eye contact. _“Awfully_ sentimental of you.”

A smug smirk pulled at Cinder’s black lips, but her cheeks burned all the same. Glynda averted her eyes, for once on the _giving_ end of an embarrassing confession, her thumb toying with the notch in her ear even now. How many times had she done that before without Cinder understanding the meaning behind it?

Burying her face in Glynda’s neck, Cinder smiled into her pulse and wrapped her arms around her neck, her cheeks unbearably hot.

Hands found a home on Cinder’s waist. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

 _“A lot,_ Glynda. A lot.”

Outrageous as that particular revelation was, Cinder needed a moment to recover, determined to relish the moment without letting Glynda know she was just as affected. From the way Glynda turned her face into Cinder’s hair, she supposed she felt the same.

“Maybe a lot,” Glynda conceded, trying to maintain her composure.

Cinder didn’t have a response that wouldn’t betray the warmth bubbling up in her chest, so she didn’t try. If she’d trusted her voice more, she would have been able to dish out the same kind of teasing she’d come to expect from Glynda any time she said something sincere. Still, nothing could dampen the affection blossoming in her breast, nurtured by the feel of Glynda against her and the music drifting through the air.

She couldn’t have said who started it, but after a time, she realized they were swaying with the tune. Cinder’s fingers dug into the collar of Glynda’s coat, her breath coming as a soft sigh against her throat.

With absolute certainty, she could say neither of them were much of a dancer, so the fact that they found themselves here now was nothing short of a wonder. But then—that simple rule had defined them from the beginning, a million diverging paths leading them down the road to ruin while only one could have ever brought them here.

They weren’t tender, but they acted with tenderness. They weren’t certain, but nothing had ever felt so sure.

Swaying turned to steps, Cinder closing her eyes and allowing herself to walk them clumsily with Glynda, a hum building in her throat until finally she couldn’t contain it. Glynda joined as well, a semblance of harmony forming as they moved. One hand slid over Glynda’s shoulder and down her arm, coaxing her touch away from Cinder’s waist to intertwine their fingers.

“You’re really bad at this,” Cinder commented, snugly tucked into the crook of Glynda’s neck.

Glynda pulled their intertwined hands up, holding them aloft and squeezing. “It’s been a really long time since ballroom dancing classes at Beacon.”

Smothering a peal of laughter, Cinder tilted her head up. “Ballroom dancing? _You?”_

In response, Glynda smirked, taking a step back to give Cinder a twirl. The flourish left her momentarily disoriented, all too happy when Glynda’s solid form returned to her side. Her palm slid over the nape of Glynda’s neck as she clumsily tried to keep up with Glynda’s quickening steps.

“It was Oz’s idea for a summer elective. I was the only one who would teach it.”

Cinder sputtered. “You _taught_ it?”

Glynda’s hand fit perfectly against Cinder’s waist again. “I wasn’t exactly the most popular teacher for it. None of the kids wanted to take another semester of it, so the class was discontinued, but…”

Black lips pulled back in a feral grin. “I’m trying to imagine you showing _children_ how to do this, and it’s absolutely the funniest thing I’ve ever considered, Glynda.”

Glynda picked up the pace even more, leaving Cinder struggling to keep up. “Hush, you.”

“I’m not _complaining.”_

Glynda considered that and then gave an uncharacteristically dazzling smile. “Do you want me to teach you?”

A snowglobe, Cinder remembered. That was what this was, what this moment was. Beautiful and fragile, undone by a single shake. One shake, and it all would have fallen apart, the peace dissolving into a whirlwind of white flurries.

Outside, the empty city was silent. Even so easily shattered, there was no one here to interrupt them.

Cinder pressed a kiss to Glynda’s throat, her answer a warm exhale against it. “Absolutely.”

*

After they’d returned and fielded Winter’s measured inquiries into their newly acquired clothes—

(“Don’t be so suspicious, Winter. Glynda and I have come by all of this legally.”

“Ah. And Glynda’s military issued jacket?”

 _“...Most_ of this legally.”)

—it had been only a matter of boarding their newly resupplied ship. According to Winter, everything on board had been checked and double-checked, and at this point, they ran the risk of being _over-prepared_ rather than the other way around. Take-off was available whenever they were ready, and all that would require would be a set of coordinates from Cinder, and Glynda consenting to the aura suppressants.

Cinder fulfilled her part without a noise of complaint, though her face showed the opposite. Glynda, however, took a moment to reach out to Lamia while her senses were still razor sharp.

She was nearby, and she wasn’t alone. Since she’d last checked, droves of Grimm had arrived, all gathered around her. Glynda could sense everything from Polar Ursi to massive Nevermores in the flock. With the snowstorm battering at the dome already, she supposed there was no better way to weather the night than pressed between the furry flanks of Grimm well adapted to this environment.

Snapping on one of the cuffs and allowing the other to dangle didn’t deprive Glynda of her awareness of Lamia, but it did make the chill in the air bite deeper.

“There’s a box of cold-weather gear over there,” Winter said as she began prepping the ship to return to the air. She nodded toward the crate set in one of the bridge’s unused chairs, the ship’s engine humming with life. “I’m not sure how necessary they’ll be considering you’ve already bundled up, but they’re there for when we actually reach the machine.”

Glynda didn’t waste time, going over to fish one of the thick marshmallow jackets out. They were still new enough to be wrapped in plastic, and she ripped one out, replacing the one she’d had to give back earlier.

Cinder clicked her tongue and adjusted her new knit cap, crossing one leg over the other in her seat. Clearly, _someone_ was annoyed their purchases had been completely unnecessary.

Considering how prudent Winter was though, should they really have been surprised she’d have thought of this?

Glynda returned and fell into the seat next to Cinder just in time to feel the ship lurch beneath her. Reaching out to touch her hand, Glynda tried, “I like the stuff we got.”

Golden eyes flickered her way and Cinder allowed their fingers to lace together. The message in her stare was clearly conveyed when she smiled slightly: even if she griped, Cinder herself had enjoyed their time in the city too.

“I agree,” said Winter without looking up from her work. Both Glynda and Cinder raised their heads, surprised she was the one commenting. “Field gear gets the job done, but is far from fashionable. I think your scarf is a lovely shade of green, Glynda. It goes well with your eyes.”

“O-oh, um,” Glynda said, taken aback by the compliment. A flush rose along her throat, warming her chilled face. “Thanks.”

Cinder rolled her eyes.

As their altitude increased, a silence descended on them. Winter got on the comm-system with the ground crew, coordinating their exit with the same precision as their entrance. Glynda touched her spinner ring as they barreled toward the barrier, the white wall dropping just moments before they would have impacted.

Howling winds greeted them the moment they pushed out into the open air, snow flurries battering the ship. The windows showed nothing but darkness and the swirls of snow as they rushed by the bridge’s windows.

But just as Winter had said, the ship plowed through the rough air currents, its navigational system blinking up on a holographic projection to show their location. Glynda could see the blinker which displayed their location and the one which marked their goal, far to the north.

“Our speed is heavily reduced by the storm, but I’d say we can expect to arrive in… Eight hours,” Winter promised, turning in her chair to face them.

“And there are five until dawn,” Cinder added.

Glynda twisted her ring, feeling the cold surface of one of the Dust rings on another finger. With the suppressants on, Lamia wouldn’t have the slightest idea where they were. Back at the city, she wouldn’t even know they’d left.

A small smile tugged at Glynda’s lips. They could do this.

“Glynda,” Winter said. “Could I entrust you to keep an eye on Lamia? I’d like to be able to divert all the ship’s power into the thrusters and navigation system.”

“Yeah,” she responded. “I guess you don’t really need Grimm detection with me on board.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

As it was, Lamia hadn’t moved, her existence as overpowering as ever. Glynda could barely even feel the lesser Grimm clustered around her, lost in the turbulent ebbs of power. They hardly mattered, though, not when the only creature which posed any threat was Lamia herself.

The first couple hours passed without too much ado. Glynda gave reports on Lamia every so often—which really just amounted to a whole lot of _she’s not moving_ —at least until the sun began to rise. As the sky grew lighter with the pale pink tones of sunrise, there were stirrings of movement.

“She’s circling the city.”

Cinder looked her way. “Lamia?”

Glynda nodded.

The three of them let out a breath of relief in unison.

“If she’s circling the city, she must have taken the bait,” Winter said. “We’re very luc—”

The display at the front of the bridge gave a fizzle, it’s screen blanking. Winter stared up at it and then looked down at the screen she had in front of her, and Cinder got to her feet.

“Winter?”

Winter didn’t look Cinder’s way, eyes flickering furiously between her display panel and the screen. “We’ve lost navigation. This storm is interfering… Don’t worry. I’ve got an alternative.”

Glynda and Cinder looked at each other as Winter shot up from her seat, moving to the rear of the bridge to begin shuffling through a drawer which fitted seamlessly into the wall. From it, she drew a map, a protractor, a compass, and a pencil.

“It’s simple navigation.” Glynda didn’t get the feeling she was talking to them. Returning to her spot and splaying the map across the panel in front of her, she said, “I’m going to shoot an azimuth from our last known location before the the system went down. Using that, I can still keep us on track.”

Relief rose again in Glynda, her fingers twitching against her spinner ring. She wouldn’t have known how to do that if it had been left to her, and one look at Cinder as she slowly lowered back into her seat told a similar story.

Winter looked up at them from her map, giving a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. It’s simple. Any soldier out of the academy could do it.”

After that, time passed a little more slowly, Glynda’s senses honed in on Lamia. She didn’t change her movements though, circling like a vulture. If anything, it only seemed like she was expanding her laps with each one, and that wasn’t anything to worry about.

Winter gave them regular updates, lifting the strange looking compass to her cheek, she promised they were still on course. Cinder had started pacing, probably unable to help it now that the sun had risen. And Glynda had resigned herself to window watching, her ring turning round and round to help fight down her own nerves.

Outside, everything was white. Snow blew past them in a neverending cloud, and every few minutes, Winter muttered comments about the building weather, like clockwork. Even without the navigational system, Winter continued checking her compass every thirty seconds to ensure their path hadn’t shifted.

Leaning her forehead to the cold glass, Glynda stared out, trying to catch a glimpse of sky or land through the snow. Down, all was white. On every side, just snow. It was a wonder Winter could navigate at all.

“North,” Winter murmured while leaning over her charts. “At this point, we just need to go north, and we’ll see it. Another hour, no more.”

Yet as Glynda stared outside, a dark shape cut through the white. Black feathers. Red markings. A Nevermore as big as the ship struggled to keep its balance through the storm. Glynda gaped at it. The fact that it was here, the fact that it had made it this far even with the weather...

“There’s a Grimm,” Glynda said, hearing herself as if it were someone else speaking. She hadn’t even noticed its presence, her senses all tuned into the massive feel of Lamia circling the city in widening passes.

“What?” Cinder was at her side in an instant. “That can’t be here!”

Cinder sucked in a startled breath as the Nevermore dared closer, opening its beak to scream at them over the howling winds. Her palms pressed to the frozen glass in disbelief.

“If it’s here, it can go back to Lamia—she’ll know! Glynda, we need to—”

The sound of shifting machinery was the only warning before two flashes of light shot through the air, punching straight through the Grimm. Parts of its body cleaved away as Dust exploded in red bursts before finally the remaining body began to dissolve.

Glynda stared out in absolute shock, but from her place at the helm, Winter smiled victoriously. “Target neutralized. Disengaging defenses.”

That same mechanical sound came again, but instead of relief, Glynda only felt the jarring reverberation of Lamia’s soul. Beside Glynda, Cinder was white as a sheet.

“She can sense Grimm,” she said quietly. “Even if she can’t feel me, she felt _that._ ”

No one even had time to react.

The feeling came over Glynda—like a part in the clouds, maybe, showing a sliver of the black night sky beyond. It was the heavy weight of being noticed, a rake across the back of her neck, scraping like teeth across her flesh. Now-familiar fear shot down her spine like electricity and she whipped around, the sudden move catching Cinder’s attention.

“She’s coming!” Glynda snapped. “She knows we’re here!”

Cinder’s voice rose with panic. “It’s too soon—We aren’t close enough—“

“How far is she?” Winter straightened in her seat, hands on the ship’s controls, disengaging the autopilot. “How long do we have?”

Lamia was the fastest thing on Remnant. They stood no chance of outspeeding her if it came to a race. A thousand thoughts sped through Glynda’s head, but none was more prominent than the image of Lamia upon them. Glynda could barely focus on Lamia’s presence, only registering that it was massive and fast-approaching.

“She’s coming quickly,” Glynda ground out. “We have minutes, at most.”

“There shouldn’t have been any Grimm out here,” Cinder added, her voice cracking. “She must have sent it. She must have _known—”_

“I can feel others,” Glynda said, reaching out with her senses. Now that she was looking, she could pick up the miniscule presences of other Grimm amongst Lamia’s overwhelming existence. “They’re all over the continent!”

“We didn’t fool her at all. She’s been looking for us. I’m afraid I underestimated your mother, Cinder,” Winter said, not looking up from the controls. There was a rueful note in her tone, like a leader admitting that she’d led her soldiers straight into the jaws of a much greater force. _Failure._ “Forgive me. I forgot she’s no ordinary Grimm. She learns from past mistakes quicker than most.”

At Corinth they escaped into the night when she was weaker. At Beacon, Glynda had donned the suppressants to throw off her tracking.

If she’d been watching the dome closely last night— _of course_ she’d been watching closely—she would have seen it blink off and on for the briefest moment, even through the snowstorm. Lamia must have known, must have seen through them immediately.

Must have been waiting for the moment the sun rose and she could take flight and suss them out, flocks of Grimm sent out as her scouts.

Winter mumbled to herself about the weather again, leaning over the various readouts on the ship’s screens. “We could land,” she said, before adding darkly: “At least try to.”

“Do it. Land. I can’t fight her from inside the ship,” Glynda said. “None of us can. If we land, we at least have that advantage: we’ll be three against one.”

Winter didn’t say anything, but Glynda suspected she was remembering the aftermath of Glynda’s previous encounter with Lamia.

“She’s coming,” Cinder said, anxiety scrawled across her features. “How much longer? Winter? Glynda?”

“Few minutes, in this weather,” Winter said.

Glynda felt the Witch’s void reaching up around her heart and squeezing. Her voice came out calmer than expected: “She sped up. A minute, at most.”

“This is never going to work,” Cinder whispered.

Winter looked at them, the determination and level-headedness of the military’s prodigy clear in her eyes. Unlike Cinder, she looked completely calm, and Glynda felt it was both out of place and entirely appropriate for their situation. Winter may have been younger than her companions, but she was also Ironwood’s favorite—a military commander, well-versed in taking command of tense situations.

Her calm was a natural reaction to seeing others’ stress. The more anxious Cinder got, the emptier Glynda grew, the calmer Winter would become to combat it.

The feeling in Glynda’s chest was like gratitude and relief rolled into one, and she decided it was a feeling adjacent to being comforted. Winter took on the role of her commander, the person giving the orders, and as long as she was calm, Glynda felt confident in their team.

“Glynda, take off your suppressants right now. She already knows we’re here,” Winter said calmly. “I’m bringing us down. Get ready for a fight.”

“She’s here,” Glynda said, doing as Winter said. The reaction was immediate as Glynda’s Aura swelled: Lamia’s flight path shifted incrementally, zeroing in on them with absolute certainty. Glynda twisted her ring and tried to resist the clawing void in her chest. “Any moment now. Get ready.”

Out of the three of them, no one looked ready to face off against Lamia.

Glynda stared out the window, turning her back on the rest, but the snow was dense around them. She muttered a swear and crossed the room to the other side of the bridge to look out the windows opposite, hoping for something, _anything_. She felt Lamia’s presence like a gigantic mouth closing around them, and yet, she couldn’t see her.

“Any moment now,” she said again, more for her own sake than anyone else’s.

Was she ready to take on the dragon again, so soon? Could she win? Even in this climate, where Lamia should be at least slightly weaker than under the hot midday sun, Glynda had her doubts. A tingle of phantom pain shot through the scars carved into her flesh by Lamia’s claws.

She couldn’t see anything. The idea that Lamia was somehow hiding from her was ludicrous. The dragon was gigantic. And yet, the very size of her was what was throwing off Glynda’s senses; it truly felt as though she was everywhere at once, completely surrounding them, flooding and choking her soul.

“Specifics would be helpful, Glynda,” Winter said. “You’re our radar, remember? We’re flying blind—”

“Turn on the radar!” Glynda almost ran to Winter’s seat, clearing the steps to her platform in one leap and staring at the dozens of buttons on the ship’s control panel as if she could understand anything. “I don’t know how long we have. I don’t know where she is. I—”

Winter pressed a discreet white button, glanced at a screen for several seconds, and then looked back at Glynda. Her stare was even, calm, and Glynda acutely recognized the disconnect between Winter’s expression and emotions. “Thank you, Professor. Prepare for things to get messy.”

Bewildered, Glynda searched the screens, trying to find what Winter had seen. Finally, she spotted a small window showing a simplified radar readout of their immediate surroundings. The ship was a small white dot in the center of the graph.

As if it needed explanation, Winter said: “Grimm are shown as red dots.”

There was a red dot on the screen. It surrounded the white dot completely, the sun behind their eclipsing moon, and Glynda realized why she hadn’t seen anything out the windows. Lamia was coming up from below, streaking low against the ground, hidden from view by the snow and fog and the very ship itself.

Cinder’s mother had caught up with them. As if she knew she had been spotted, the feeling of her on Glynda’s neck intensified, painful claws down her spine.

She barely had time to call out a warning to Cinder before the ship’s tail end jerked sharply upwards, sending both of them tumbling towards the front of the ship. Glynda caught herself against the windshield, Cinder crashing into the back of the captain’s platform. Among the noise of the impact, a deafening roar pierced their ears. Glynda recognized it acutely. At the sound of it, her guts were ice inside of her, frozen with dread.

A cacophony of noise! Screams of metal tearing apart! Alarms blaring! And that _voice!_ Another earsplitting cry of rage had Cinder clapping her hands over her ears, refusing to listen to her mother.

Lamia had streaked up from below and smashed her way past them. What little sunlight escaped the cloud cover was now blocked entirely by her body, blood-red wings becoming the sky as Glynda stared up through the windshield. She tore herself away from the cold glass, leaping down from the platform in some hope of more solid ground, but—even if she readied herself to fight, what could she do?

“I’ll try to evade, but she’s a big one,” Winter said almost casually.

The iron wall of a commander had fallen around her emotions, separating her actions and voice from the rest of her brain. Expertly taking control of the ship, Winter pulled into a hard left turn, and the black dragon veered to the right, banking sharply to circle back on them. In the air, she moved with exceptional grace, as smoothly as a fish through water. Even an airship was no match for her size, and yet she easily outmaneuvered them, racing back with unbeatable speed.

There was nothing Glynda could do from inside a ship. Cinder was back at her side in an instant, staring out the window, equally helpless. The view of Lamia was torn from them mere seconds before impact as Winter threw the ship into a roll, cutting their wide left turn short, the sharp change in direction throwing Lamia off their course by a hair. She blew past them, the slipstream throwing the ship further off its previous course.

“We have to get down,” Cinder snapped, as if it could make their landing quicker. “We can’t do anything if we’re trapped in the air with her!”

“Agreed,” Winter said, calmly surveying the instruments Glynda didn’t have a chance of understanding. “The first strike damaged one engine, but we are still flight-capable. I’ll engage the automatic targeting system and hope to buy us some time. I’m afraid we cannot even dream of out-speeding her, but completing our landing should be feasible.”

Glynda heard the sound of dozens of metal barrels falling into position below and glanced out the window. On either side of the ship, two parallel lines of guns had slid out of their hatches, Dust rounds ready to fire.

Winter watched the targeting system on one of the many screens and, as calmly as ever, produced a colorful swear Glynda had not expected to hear. But they were descending, once again continuously banking left in an exhilarating downward spiral. On the ground, all three of them could mobilize together to fight off the dragon, fully equipped with weapons and Aura.

If Cinder’s mother saw the guns rotating to follow her as she zoomed towards them, determined to strike them from the sky, she didn’t show a sign of it.

Dozens of guns fired in unison, and the recoil jolted them several feet back. The Dust rounds hit Cinder’s mother, there was no doubt about that, explosives peppering her front in quick succession. The dragon recoiled, eyes closed to protect them, buying them a precious second’s delay. The moment was brief, and when the smoke cleared, her gilded scales were charred, but Glynda couldn’t see as much as a dent in them.

“How much longer?” Glynda asked anxiously.

Winter didn’t reply, jerking the ship off its course to evade Lamia’s charge. The dragon’s long spiked tail whipped around as soon as she realized she had missed again. Crushing into the ship as she passed, her tail alone had enough force to send them careening to the side, helpless for several seconds before Winter could right them back to a safe descent. The ship’s previously smooth-humming engines spluttered, and the vessel shuddered ominously.

Though Glynda easily regained her balance, the ship was clearly less fortunate, and Winter turned her head to look at them before finally answering: “Our remaining time in the air has just been significantly reduced, if it’s any comfort.”

“It’s not,” Cinder said. “It’s really not.”

Of all the things Glynda expected, she had never anticipated Winter to smile. It was a tight, tense smile, almost apologetic, but Winter smiled, and turned back to the controls. “Emergency landing sequence has been initiated, but I’m afraid our thrusters and right wing are—”

The dragon’s gigantic body blacked out the windows, slamming into them again. The floor disappeared under Glynda’s feet as the ship tumbled through the air, completely out of anyone’s control.

In the midst of the chaos they faced, Winter’s voice cut, dutifully reporting even to the end: “Both engines destroyed. We’re going down.”

As they plummeted, Glynda saw in a confused flash through the window that the ship’s air resistance flaps were splayed wide, a desperate attempt to slow their descent before impact. Metal screamed against the air, cutting through snow drifts, sucking a whirlwind of snow into their slipstream. If the descent slowed at all, Glynda couldn’t feel the difference. She heard the dragon roaring, mixed in with a scream she realized was her own. Her Aura absorbed the hits when she slammed against a wall, a corner, the floor, thrown towards the back of the ship, but she knew the ground must be only moments away.

The instruments were still screaming their warning alarms. The roar of wind around them was equally loud. The lights in the cabin went out.

There was an incredible sound of metal being crushed and twisted and blown apart, and Glynda's vision went entirely white—and then, silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >step 1: trick the dragon  
>  **failed step 1**


	24. Chapter 24

Silence.

Then a shrill ringing in both ears.

Cold so biting it felt like needles. 

Glynda realized she was alive several seconds later, blinking slowly as her vision reoriented. There was nothing to see but white, the ringing abating only to give way to the howling of vicious winds. Her glasses were pushing into the bridge of her nose painfully, but through some miracle, the lenses were still usable.

Was the dragon circling above them even now? As before, it felt as though Lamia were everywhere, nails raking down her back and setting every scar alight with the overwhelming sensation of her. Each time before, Glynda had been deep within her own soul when she’d gotten close to Lamia, but now she was experiencing her as she truly was. 

Somewhere above, she let out a terrible roar, vibrating the very ground beneath Glynda. It shook her to the bones, her soul surging instinctively to give her the clarity to locate the dragon, the peace to rise to her feet and fight. 

Glynda resisted the impulse. Something told her it was a bad time to become a hollow shell. A stubbornness called recovery lodged in her throat, stopping her from willingly taking the first step to relapse. She was so scared.

Slowly, Glynda braced her palms against the ground and pushed herself up. The whiteness dropped away as she rose from the ground, but now that she wasn’t pressed into snow, the howling wind cut straight through her. She squinted against it, gathering snow in her hands and looking down at it as if it was her first time seeing any. 

It was cold. She could still feel it.

Without the void to numb everything, fear ruled her body. Glynda was unable to escape the feel of Lamia. Scrambling to her feet, she felt a dozen protests from her limbs and torso, her body banged and bruised—but she still rose, frantically searching for the shape of the dragon. 

Snow and wind pelted her hard as hail, swirling around in an impossible torrent. Her Aura was doing what it could with the injuries she’d sustained, and Glynda adjusted her glasses, her pulse hammering in her chest. 

Overhead, the pale light of the sun shone through the thick grey clouds. The red and black shape circling overhead could only belong to Lamia, the scale of her stopping Glynda’s heart. Molten eyes stared down, directly at her, and Lamia let out another terrifying scream, wings folding to drop towards the crash site before opening once more.

_ A vulture.  _

She wheeled overhead, close enough that Glynda could see the glint of her claws even through the raging storm, could almost feel them upon her skin. But she didn’t land. 

Glynda joints were cement, her eyes locked on the creature above her. Impending doom. Impending death. She’d never allowed it to consume her before, to take her under and starve her of air. The void had always been there, ready to take the fear away. She could hardly stand it, tears pricking at her eyes. 

The sound of metal groaning was the only thing to break the spell, Glynda’s gaze cutting to the source. Winter’s ship!

The area was covered in debris from the ship, scattered and mangled metal Glynda could not even guess at identifying. Its nose had buried deep in the snow, to the point where the windshield was entirely covered. Thanks to the impact, the front of the ship had crumpled in on itself, and the whole body was misshapen to be near unrecognizable. Black scorch marks dragged along the white surface where Lamia had collided with them, and black smoke belched from one of the engines.

_ The engine! _

Black smoke meant oil. Oil meant an explosion. Glynda forced her legs to move, flinching as the shadow of Lamia’s massive wingspan passed overhead. 

One of the ship’s wings was buried in the snow, but the other was angled toward the sky, acrid smoke being torn from the engine with each whip of the wind. Glynda fixed her Semblance upon it, reaching deep into her reserves of Aura. Steel groaned and the entire wing came away with the shearing of metal, flying far into the distance before it could blow up the entire ship. 

Lamia screamed again, dipping closer as if to scoop Glynda up from the ground before expanding her wings and rising to a higher altitude. 

Glynda panted, her breath steaming, and gulped down the lump in her throat, her hands trembling with terror. She’d been thrown a distance from the ship, the swelling in her shoulder and the throbbing pains across her body giving her hints to how. 

But she didn’t see anyone else. She was alone, her eyes watering from the powerful gales and the sea of Lamia’s presence. 

“Cinder,” she croaked, whipping her head around to search for her among the snowdrifts. Her voice came out cracked and hoarse, but she forced herself to swallow again. “Cinder! Winter!”

Glynda ran, the snow tripping her up with every step. She cupped her hands around her mouth, calling out for both of them again and again. 

She couldn’t be alone, she couldn’t have been the only one to survive the crash—

As she got closer to the ship, Glynda spotted Cinder, hanging halfway out of the crumpled shape she guessed had once been the ramp door. The ramp was nowhere to be seen, but Glynda didn’t have time to look around and pick out which mangled scrap metal had once been it.

The snow made the dozen feet between them a treacherous distance, but when Glynda fell forward, she scrambled to crawl, eyes locked onto the limp shape of Cinder, her head and arm hanging lifelessly over the lip of the opening. The cold air burned her throat and lungs, but she forced herself to reach her. 

“Cinder!”

Glynda touched Cinder’s cheek, disturbing the curtain of black hair which fell over her face. Her eyes watered, her battered body ached, but none of it mattered when she heard Cinder groan softly—roused by the noise, maybe.

Blood stained Glynda’s gloves when she pulled her hand away, but Cinder was alive. Holding her breath, she pulled her out of the elevated doorway and into her lap, taking stock of her injuries. Blood covered half of her face, gushing from a set of large gashes that cut a diagonal across from over her left ear to below her right eye, but her Aura was already mending it. 

Cinder’s left eye was shut—injured, or simply glued shut with blood?—but the other one opened and stared up at Glynda’s face as if through a haze. Cinder blinked a couple times, and was able to focus on Glynda. She was, if not unhurt, conscious and aware. Covered in bruises and cuts, just like Glynda, but she was alive.

Glynda breathed relief, brushing Cinder’s hair out of the way with a gentle hand. It stuck to the bloody wounds, but she tucked it behind Cinder’s ear, offering reassurance, comfort. As she did, Cinder cracked her left eye open. She was still looking at her, breathing heavily, fear shining from the depths behind her eyes.

She also saw relief there.

At least until Lamia screamed again, this time farther off, her voice distorting with the wind. Cinder stiffened for a moment and then shot up into a sitting position, her pained wheeze like a whisper with the wind howling in Glynda’s ears. 

Cinder wiped blood from her eye and blinked, hard, several times. The wounds cutting across had missed her eye, but the blood ran over her brow again, threatening to spill into it.

Cinder muttered something, but there was no chance of hearing it. She clutched at the side of her face, her Aura flaring. 

Glynda had to raise her voice, “She’s above us!”

The pass of that shadow over them was a confirmation which chilled Glynda more than even Atlas could manage. Cinder looked up at the same time as Glynda, taking in the sight of red wings like blood against the grey sky. 

Fingers caught Glynda’s wrist in a painful grip. “Where’s Winter?”

_ Three against one. _ That had been their plan. But Glynda didn’t see Winter anywhere, visibility cut because of the storm. That, and every sense was already overwhelmed just by being so close to Lamia. 

Drawn by the spiderweb tug of Glynda’s thoughts, Lamia swooped again, but this time, Cinder jumped to her feet. An inferno flared to life, sucked into the winds and twisted this way and that before finally extinguishing. Her golden eyes blazed with fear, the blood and stitching wounds only carving it deeper into every move. 

Her palms stayed open toward the sky, and Lamia contorted mid air, cut off by the flames Cinder had unleashed. The shifting air currents obviously battered at her, more apparent now that she was trying to hover than before when she could slip between them. 

Pushed and unbalanced, her massive body couldn’t resist the storm entirely. Claws scratched at the air, a powerful gust pushing her closer, and Cinder and Glynda flinched together, expecting impact at last. Lamia pulled up at the last second, narrowly avoiding crushing them both, but there was no denying the wretched vein of sorrow in her next scream as she fought to climb back into the air. 

Cinder was trembling, watching her circle overhead once more. 

Her lips moved, but the sound was too soft for Glynda to make out. But that didn’t stop her from reading the shape of her mouth. 

_ She knew I was inside. _

Lamia had downed them even knowing Cinder must have been onboard. She wasn’t landing now, but the image of Cinder hanging from the remains of the ship stuck in Glynda’s mind. A cold fear shot through Glynda, her hands reaching instinctively for the rings on her fingers, feeling the shape of them through her gloves. 

If even the danger of hurting Cinder wouldn’t stop her, did they have any hope at all?

“We need to find Winter!”

Winter had led them before. She’d come up with a plan and given Glynda the confidence to march forward. Quivering fingers raised to the notch in her ear, passing over it anxiously. 

They had to find Winter. Winter was the person who could tell them what to do now. 

Glynda helplessly looked around, and Cinder followed her lead, the two of them finally turning to look at the carcass of the ship behind them. A shuddering breath left her. Inside, steel beams ripped through the framework, wiring exposed and left to spark.

“She could still be inside.” Glynda eyed the slowly-mending wounds on Cinder’s face. “How’s your Aura?”

“It’s fine.” Cinder wiped smeared blood onto her coat before the cuts finally sealed and faded, pale white lines carved across her face similarly to Glynda’s own. Her eye still appeared swollen somewhat, not quite open all the way. “I don’t want to spend too much of it, just in case we have to—“ Her breath caught in her throat. “In case we have to fight.”

“She’s flying higher,” Glynda said, looking up at the shape which was circling in wider revolutions. Lamia wanted to stay, but Cinder’s flames had pushed her back, putting more distance between them. “You might have bought us enough time.”

“She must know we’re going to where the machine is. If… If she just wants to stop us... Maybe she won't… ” Cinder’s voice was quiet, unconvinced by her own logic and unable to even finish the thought.

“I hope so,” Glynda added grimly. “Let’s check inside.”

The door to the ship was crumpled into an unrecognizable geometry, but with Glynda’s strength and Semblance they bent it into a size they could pass through. The inside was still warm. A red emergency light had come on to replace the usual cabin lighting.

Everything inside was bolted down firmly, and most of the chaos was created by the broken exterior. The ship’s mangled shape and missing parts made a leg-trap of metal, difficult to navigate and impossible to scout. Sharp sheets of metal bent away from the walls, and jagged poles from the ship’s skeleton stabbed into the cabin from underneath. It was a sharp, treacherous place to navigate. It was a death trap to be stuck in.

Glynda called out: “Special Operative Schnee? Answer if you can hear me, Schnee.”

Cinder’s voice quaked: “Winter?”

There was a clatter as a piece of metal wall gave under the weight of the snow, white chunks of it crashing through the ceiling to burst into powder and ice upon the floor. Outside, the wind continued to tear at the wreckage, and Lamia circled still, refusing to abandon the crash site completely.

The two of them climbed over a massive, jutting dent in the floor and called for Winter once more. Glynda was starting to fear the worst.

Then, from farther in came the soft, distorted sound of a fan’s rotation. It was accompanied by the low growl of some beast, and surprise hardened into abject horror as Glynda considered whether there had been more Grimm than just the Nevermore. She couldn’t feel any, but—

Cinder dashed forward, with Glynda trailing after her as they haphazardly ducked around sharp pipes and dangling wires. Together, they crossed the ship to the front end, where the metal became near impassable. Glynda had to bend a sheet of metal back into the roof before they reached the bridge. The windshield was covered in snow, filtering in a strange blue light over the entire room.

The sound continued, an aberration of anything Glynda would have expected to hear, but now she knew the source. On the floor, a familiar glyph in the shape of the Schnee’s logo whirled, a pale white light emanating from it. 

It cast the thing above it in perfect, sharp contrast to the rest of the room. Shaggy white fur, blue eyes, blue sigils—the shape of it was familiar, something Glynda would know anywhere, but despite its startling similarities to an Ursa, Glynda couldn’t sense it. 

The Ursa’s lips pulled back in a snarl, but Cinder didn’t hesitate, rushing forward fearlessly to where it stood at the helm. 

“Glynda!” She said, ignoring the ferocious roar the white Grimm let out and advancing as far as the wreckage would allow. “The beam!”

It was only then that Glynda noticed the heavy metal beam the Ursa was shouldering. It looked ready to lunge at Cinder if not for the fact that moving would have let the beam fall completely, crushing the mangled controls of the ship and the vague shape slouched against them—

_ Winter.  _

Her hair fell loosely around her face and shoulders, stained a deep red. The blood seeped down the side of her uniform, a red-splattered mess overtaking her left side and arm. The parts of her that weren’t coated in slick blood were marked by bruises. Her cheeks had already taken on the sickly pallor of blood loss, her lips losing color.

Winter wheezed, and a trickle of blood from her temple crossed her pale cheek, rounding her jaw and dripping down. She was alive, for now, but Glynda saw her Aura rise up only to shudder across her skin uselessly and fade again. 

Her eyelids fluttered weakly, but Glynda had no misconceptions: there was no way she was fully conscious. Winter could use her Semblance to save herself from being crushed, but she would still bleed out and die if they didn’t do something.

Glynda immediately got to work bending aside the sharp metal that blocked their path. Trying to bend the ship’s broken skeleton into a shape they could pass by on foot was hard work, but with Glynda’s Semblance assisting every push and pull, they were able to wrench the metal out of the way. The metal digging into her fingers and palms meant nothing, not with her terrified Aura bursting free to protect her, not with Winter’s life on the line.

Finally there was only the beam being held back by the Ursa summon. It was thick as Glynda and many times heavier, but it yielded when Glynda pitted the strength of her soul against it, managing to lift and bend it away from the controls. 

Winter’s Ursa, newly freed from where it had been pinned beneath the beam, uttered a final guttural growl before the glyph beneath it dimmed and slowed. It disappeared like a flame flickering out, the strange blue light from the snow-covered windows washing over the bridge’s helm in its absence.

“Winter!”

They ran to Winter, dropping to their knees by her. She had opened her eyes again, staring blankly at the floor as if she weren’t really seeing it. Her breathing was shallow, but the fact that she breathed at all was a blessing.

A jolt of dread froze Glynda in place when she took a closer look at Winter’s injuries. She had assumed at a distance that whatever injury covered her side in blood had also splattered her arm, but she had been wrong. The blood was gushing out from the ragged stump of her left arm, cut halfway between elbow and shoulder. No doubt some piece of sharp shrapnel had done its nasty work in the impact. An uncomfortable tingle shot down Glynda’s arm in horrified sympathy.

Cinder had seen it before her, but was handling it better, calmly attempting to make contact with Winter while shooting glances at Glynda that seemed to command her to do something.

“Winter? Winter, can you hear me?” Ginger hands lifted Winter’s head, but Winter wasn’t focusing. 

Glynda was just about to say she was definitely still not conscious when pale lips moved slowly, a soft whisper escaping: “...Going down…”

She had been the only one of them to not be thrown from the bridge. In fact, Winter was exactly where they’d left her. A captain trying to ease the impact until the very end. Did she even know they’d crashed?

Glynda touched Winter’s shoulder, feeling a weak, fluttering pulse beneath the surface. 

Lamia screamed, the sound of it reverberating through the ship. Both Cinder and Glynda flinched, but the sound seemed to rouse something in Winter, her eyes sliding sideways to where Glynda touched her. 

Drawing a wane breath, Winter stared down at her missing arm, eyes glassy. Still, Glynda watched her lips form the words: “High and tight…”

A moment of confusion passed before recognition clicked into place, jogging years of field training, and Glynda leapt to her feet. Cinder hadn't caught on, growing more frantic by the second. 

“What is she saying?” she demanded, still cradling Winter’s face. 

“We need a tourniquet!” Glynda sped off, crossing the cabin to the back end and wresting open one of the storage compartments she’d seen Winter access before the crash. Various supplies and instruments spilled out as she tore the drawers open. “She’s got to be in shock, but—”

But drills and training took over when everything else had failed. 

Tourniquets were in every military-issued medical supply kit, and Glynda nearly destroyed the already busted wall trying to find one. Finally, she spotted a white box with a red cross on it, dug it out from beneath the other tools, and ran back to Winter. 

“A tourniquet?” Cinder was biting her lip when she returned, wide, fearful eyes following Glynda’s every move as she dropped beside Winter once more. “Isn’t that—”

“The only thing that can stop this kind of bleeding,” Glynda answered, reaching back to those annual first aid classes she had to take as a professor at Beacon. Expectantly, there were three tourniquets tucked beneath the thick, woolen blanket inside the box. “She’s already lost her arm. At this rate, she’s going to die from blood loss before anything else.”

The blood loss Winter had already suffered was the most dangerous. Only a few minutes longer might be fatal. Glynda knew that much. There wasn’t really any time to be careful, and she grabbed Winter’s arm roughly, peeling away the bloodied remains of her sleeve. 

Stripped of the sleeve, Glynda could now see the weak spurts of bright red blood—arterial blood. She had less time than she thought. Without fanfare, Glynda slid the black tourniquet over the wound, raising it two inches above the cut and twisting the rod on the end. It tightened the fabric around the arm, as hard as possible, until the gushing blood tapered to a slow drip.

If Winter was conscious enough to feel it, Glynda felt bad for her.

Glynda returned to the kit, throwing the blanket aside and searching for gauze and bandages. It was a messy application, but it would cover the wound, hopefully stem the remaining flow, and keep it clean. Usually, for civilians without unlocked Auras, this was as much as Glynda could do for them.

Winter Schnee was not a civilian. That simple fact would save her life.

Glynda looked at Cinder, and they nodded to each other, finally on the same wavelength. Glynda pressed one hand to the damaged arm again and one on her other shoulder, holding her steady, skin to skin. Cinder held Winter’s face, forcing her unfocused eyes to look at her own. Winter’s skin was cold to the touch and clammy with sweat. Her Aura would have to save her life.

Glynda closed her eyes. Both of their Auras reached out to Winter’s battered soul, and it accepted the gift hungrily. Winter’s body knew it was dying. It knew what to do with the gift they offered it.

Almost immediately, a spark of color returned to her cheeks, faint but undeniable.

It took a few minutes, but with both of them offering their Auras, the boost was significant. Glynda could feel it coursing through Winter’s weakened body, kick-starting the processes which had been shut down as she entered shock. Steel-blue eyes fluttered, Winter letting out a soft sigh. 

“Is she going to be alright?” Cinder asked, not moving her hands or stopping the flow of Aura. “She’s ice cold, Glynda.”

“I think so. Blood loss will do that, but we should be able to warm her up,” Glynda said, but she couldn’t ignore the sensation that was Lamia, still hovering outside. “As long as your mother doesn’t come back to finish the job.”

“She’s still here?”

“I don’t think she’s leaving as long as I’m here.”

Cinder pressed her lips together, new scars tightening across her face. She looked like she wanted to weep, or maybe scream, but neither would drive Lamia away. 

Knowing it would be a while before Winter came to even after her Aura had began to seal the other wounds on her body, Glynda stood up. Now that Winter’s injuries were healing, her Aura would move on to a new task: pressuring her body into rushing production of new blood.

Cinder didn’t follow Glynda’s lead, looking afraid to let Winter’s head droop, but she did turn to watch Glynda as she started towards the ship’s exit. 

“Where are you going?” Her tone was like the crack of a whip, an anger blazing in her eyes. “Glynda, if you think you’re going out to face her alone—”

“I want to see where she is,” Glynda responded. “I’m coming back. I promise.”

Cinder looked like she wanted to protest, but Glynda gave a small smile and then stripped her bloodied gloves away, fingers immediately finding the spinner ring and twisting. It was easier to pinpoint Lamia’s actual location in the vast waves of her being now. High above, she circled around and around, but she wasn’t getting any farther away.

Outside, Glynda was reminded of the bitter storm that raged just beyond the ship’s protection. Flurries whipped at her, but she squinted up at the sky, confirming that her senses weren’t lying to her. Lamia was up there, constantly circling, and behind her, slivers of sun cut through the cloud cover. 

How long would the sunlight last? What would happen if Lamia was forced to land here? Glynda felt her gut churn and hurried back inside.

“She’s still circling,” she announced when she came back to the others. 

Cinder had draped the blanket Glynda had tossed aside earlier over Winter’s shoulders and pulled her away from the console into a tight embrace. Surely taking Glynda’s words to heart about warming her up, Cinder held Winter, no doubt infusing her with the natural warmth that radiated from her skin. Winter’s complexion looked somewhat better, almost something Glynda would call “healthy”. 

Winter’s face was tucked safely against Cinder’s shoulder, but Glynda could see her eyes were half open. Vacant, distant, but not dead. 

She was coming back, slowly but surely, from the brink of death.

Winter would be exhausted, no doubt, after spending so much Aura so quickly. Emergency magical healing was never a pleasant solution. It demanded too much of both body and soul—but in a crisis it could make the difference between life and death.  

Glynda’s newest scars tingled, a reminder: her Aura had carelessly knit together tissue that could have naturally mended so much smoother, given time and proper medical care. It had saved her life, but it wasn’t a pretty—or painless—process. She was well familiar with the rush job of Aura healing, but she was a Witch. Her Aura was deeper than humans’ were. Winter would exhaust herself before even coming to consciousness.

It was better than dying.

Glynda sat down on the floor with her back against the console and exhaled, rubbing her hands together. It was cold outside, but the airship bridge was still at a more comfortable temperature, and feeling slowly returned to her numbed fingers. She waited, feeling restless yet unable to think of a single thing to do while Cinder held Winter. 

They were alive. That was a victory in itself. Lamia had struck them from the sky, and they had survived the plummet. 

But now they were stuck.

Would they survive a fight? Glynda didn’t know.

What was next? They had surely missed their chance to destroy the machine without having to fight Lamia over it. A confrontation seemed inevitable, and that scared her. She hated it. She shouldn’t have to be scared of a Grimm. She was a trained huntress, a Witch, and yet she cowered at the very thought of this Grimm.

Lamia had almost killed her, she reminded herself. More than once. Lamia had killed Ilkay and Bacia. She was a Witch killer. It was natural for Glynda to fear her as she feared death itself.

It still didn’t feel right.

After what felt like a small eternity, Winter tilted her head towards Cinder’s. Then she lifted her arm to touch the back of Cinder’s jacket, fingers digging in weakly. Cinder leaned back, holding Winter by her good shoulder.

Even that was shrugged off, and Winter leaned back to prop herself up against the control panel, wheezing.

“I can’t believe it,” Winter said, her voice hoarse, squinting against the two of them as if she wasn’t sure she was seeing right. She cleared her throat and clarified, “We survived that.”

Glynda breathed a shallow laugh, spinning her ring. “Yes. We did. Somehow.”

It looked as though Winter would rise to her feet. Before she got that far, her teeth snapped together, barely containing a moan of agony. Her hand shot to her arm with a speed that showed clearly how instinctive the movement was, before Winter froze entirely, taking in the sight.

Suddenly, Glynda felt compelled to apologize, and lowered her gaze.

Winter’s Aura would have sealed the worst damage by now, but it would hurt. It clearly hurt. Winter still completed her action, gripping the cloth-wrapped end of her arm, knuckles whitening, squeezing the still-mending injury until blood wetted her palm through the bandages.

She didn’t say anything for a long time.

“I did everything I could to stop the bleeding,” Glynda mumbled. “But that was all I could do.”

As if to back her up, Cinder raised her eyes and said, “You were already…”

Winter took her time before rolling her shoulders and wiping her bloody hand on her white coat. The coattails were in tatters now, elegant military uniform torn into unrecognizable scraps. Huffing, she managed to make herself sound impossibly unaffected when she said, “I’ll live. If General Ironwood can run the place after losing half of his body, I should manage fine with losing just an arm.” 

The corner of Winter’s mouth twitched.

Her face was slick with sweat and blood, but she was  _ still  _ trying to blow it off. Glynda hadn’t pegged Winter as the type to use humor as part of her coping strategy before this disastrous flight, but now she was reassessing. 

“Thank you both,” Winter said finally, when neither of them responded to her half-hearted joke. “You saved my life.”

Her voice was stronger now, her complexion almost back to its normal shade. Though she looked tired, the vigor was returning to her, and it reassured Glynda to see her energetically wiping at her face with the few remaining clean parts of her coat.

Clearly feeling the same sort of relief, Cinder cracked a tentative smile. “Don’t go spreading that around, Winter. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

Winter seemed to appreciate the joke, with a familiar fondness that soothed the pain from her expression.

For once, Glynda was the only one unable to go along with it. The constant drag of nails across her neck made her twirl her ring. “We haven’t saved anyone yet. Lamia is still here, and it doesn’t feel like she’s leaving. We need a plan before the sun sets and she’s forced to land.”

Winter’s expression darkened as she realized what Glynda was saying. Cinder’s weary smile faded. 

“Holed up here, we’re sitting ducks,” Glynda said. “Trapped between nowhere and your mother. She’ll come for us eventually. She could be on us any moment. Winter can’t fight—not with how much Aura she’s already used. We haven’t destroyed the machine, so losing here could mean…”

Glynda swallowed thickly, the words trapped in her throat.

Cinder was the one to complete the thought, her face stricken with emotion. “Could mean losing everything.”

Trying not to remember the way Winter had once talked about the machine and the endless agony that anyone in it must have felt, Glynda touched her chest. The hollow thing there gave a shudder, the sensation rippling across Glynda’s flesh and setting every hair on end. Did it remember when Bacia had given herself to the machine?

“There’s no way the ship can fly in this condition,” Winter said. 

“I tore off one of the engines,” Glynda admitted, roused from her thoughts. “And the wing it was attached to.”

Cinder shot her a look of utter disbelief, but Winter only offered a shaky smile. “I had been wondering why we hadn’t exploded yet. Thank you, Glynda. However, that only reinforces my point: if we plan on going anywhere, it won’t be in this ship.”

Glynda asked, “I don’t suppose you have… I don’t know, a snow-mobile onboard?”

Winter’s smile turned contrite. “I’m afraid not.”

“By foot, then? In this weather?” Cinder chewed her lower lip, looking between them. “You look like you wouldn’t make it ten feet, Winter.”

As if to prove her wrong, Winter’s muscles strained in preparation to rise, but before she could even make it to her knees, she was out of breath, swaying dangerously. She grit her teeth, steadying herself with one hand on the ground, but Cinder’s point stood: Winter wasn’t able to walk, much less fight if it came to it. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Winter huffed. She didn’t refuse their helping hands, but she did close her eyes, pushing back her bangs and examining the blood staining the palm of her glove. “Thank you. Just… Give me a moment to think.”

Glynda itched for movement. She wanted to go. If she stayed here, she was putting both Cinder and Winter in danger. If she left, she could at least draw Lamia away. 

She knew she could do it if she let the Witch soul do its work. Just like before. She could face Lamia no matter the odds stacked against her if she could simply erase the fear. It would solve everything—or, more likely, it would solve nothing. But it would be doing something, which gave them a far better chance than doing nothing. 

The geometric carvings on her spinner ring spun and spun beneath Glynda’s fingertips. 

The sound must have travelled because the next thing Glynda knew, Cinder was watching her intently, that same look on her face from before, when Glynda was going outside. “We’ll think of something. Winter will…”

She really was terrible at being reassuring. Glynda felt herself smile grimly at the thought.

Letting her soul consume her now would be the same as walking straight into her own grave. Worse, it could be walking right into an apocalypse. She had to stay scared. Staying scared could keep her safe. And nothing scared Glynda more than leaving alone to draw Lamia away from the ship. In fact, it scared her so much she couldn’t even bring up the idea. Her throat tightened, denying the words.

“There has to be something…” Winter turned her face into her palm, her brow scrunched with effort. 

“Can we call for back-up?” Cinder asked, her eyes still trained on Glynda. “There’s a whole fleet of ships waiting back at that base.  _ Someone _ has to be able to help us.”

“It took us hours to get here,” Winter answered immediately, not shifting her position. She ground out the words as if each was her own personal failure. “Any ship would face the same limitations. And the sun will set sooner than anyone could reach us.”

Winter heaved a shuddering breath. Glynda watched as she tried to maintain her chokehold on her emotions, a new dread settling into her at seeing even Winter brought this low. 

She was only human, Glynda remembered. A prodigy, but still subject to pain and fear and hopeless odds.

“When we crashed, a beam hit the controls,” Winter forced out, breathing deep a few times before attempting to continue. “Communications might still be possible. The emergency lights are still on in the ship, which means there’s still some reserves of power left...But I’d have to reroute the ship’s remaining power and patch the message through manually. It’s a long shot, and if Lamia decides to attack…”

Glynda could see the lines and where they ended. “Then we have no chance.”

“Right,” Winter said, lifting her head from her hand, a miserable expression contorting her face. “This ship is barely functioning right now. If it sustains any more damage, I can guarantee we won’t reach anyone.”

“Then…” Cinder began, her thoughts following the same track as Glynda’s.

Glynda nodded in her direction, feeling the hollow thing in her chest constrict around her heart. She still wasn’t able to say the words, but she could get close. “We have to make Lamia leave.”

“But she won’t do that unless—”

“Unless she’s lured away,” Winter finished. 

There was a long moment where no one spoke, calculations ticking behind Winter’s eyes. Even Cinder had time to recognize the implications left hanging in the air, her expression slowly morphing into furious disbelief. 

Both Glynda and Cinder stared down at Winter, waiting for her to tell them anything but what they expected.

Finally, carefully, Winter spoke, “If you can lead her away from the ship, Glynda… It could give us the chance we need. It will be night in a few hours. If you can scare her back to her lair, I could arrange a pick-up…”

_ “Absolutely not!” _ Cinder’s fingers dug into Winter’s shoulder. Winter winced, and Cinder pulled her hand away as if she’d just realized, caught halfway between apologetic and outraged. “She’ll get herself killed if she goes out there alone--if not by my mother, then by the weather! No one could survive out there for long!”

Hearing Cinder refuse to accept it made Glynda’s heart soar with hope. She didn’t  _ want _ to go out there. She didn’t want that to be her duty. 

“Not if you go with her,” Winter retorted breathlessly. “If you’re there, I know the two of you won’t freeze. Between Glynda’s Aura and your Semblance, I know—”

Cinder’s brows shot up. “And where will you be? Here? By yourself? You almost died, and if we leave you here, you will! I don’t feel the ship’s atmosphere controls anymore. It might be warm in here right now, but in a couple hours—”

“There are blankets,” Winter said. “And the field gear we brought.”

“I’m the only one who can keep us warm! We have to stay together!”

“I’ll survive—”

“We’re not leaving you behind!”

Winter flinched as if she had been struck.

_ “Don’t,” _ Winter whispered, and the commanding tone had been replaced with soft pleading. Her fingers tightened around the stub of her arm again, steel-blue eyes dropping. “This isn’t the time.”

“We’re not going out there, and we’re not leaving you!” Cinder was stubborn, her fingers curling into fists at her side. “The only way we all survive is if we stay together—here—and wait for reinforcements.”

Winter’s mouth tightened. “Cinder. That only sounds like a way for all of us to die.”

The sunlight wasn’t going to last. If it came down to Lamia confronting them here, there wasn’t a single way Glynda could see all of them getting out of it alive. 

Golden eyes flickered to Glynda as if expecting her to tell Winter she was wrong. But Glynda’s tongue was tied, pinned to the roof of her mouth by fear. She would have to do exactly what she least wanted. Even Winter thought so. 

Without assistance, Cinder’s expression slid toward wretched hopelessness.

Winter seized upon her moment of weakness. “We can’t risk your mother destroying our only chance at calling for reinforcements. And we can’t risk her taking Glynda now. Staying here will mean the worst possible outcome.

“You and Glynda will be able survive in the storm for a while—just long enough to wait for help. We can’t go back from here. Civilization is too far away. And I doubt even you two could make it all the way to Lamia’s lair. And if by some miracle you did, you’d be severely weakened. You wouldn’t have a chance. I have to send this message. I’m the only one who knows the ship well enough to call for reinforcements. This is our only option.”

Winter let out a held breath, her the set of her shoulders loosening. “Now would be a good time for out of sight, out of mind, Cinder. I’ll be fine.”

Cinder’s mouth clamped shut and she fell silent, a crease of tension between her eyebrows. Glynda could tell there was more she wanted to say, but something in that phrase had strangled the words in her throat.

Leaving Winter. Embarking into the storm where Lamia was. It felt like the weight of Glynda’s fear would crush her, and now even Cinder was beginning to share her expression, eyes on the ground, looking at no one.

With no further resistance, Winter released her arm, taking a deep breath and trying to rise again. She took it slower this time, ensuring she had her balance. Reaching for the broken console, Winter managed to cautiously pull herself up from the floor, hesitating on her knees before finally clearing the ground. On her feet, she leaned back heavily on the controls behind her, clutching the stump of her arm with her good hand. 

Each breath came as though it took every ounce of her strength. Her hair, usually tied up into a tidy bun, spilled over her shoulders, messy and in her face. 

But her  _ expression. _ It was a look Glynda recognized. Tingles danced up her spine, a spark of something warm blooming in her chest.

“I’ll begin working on getting reinforcements. It might be slow work, but… I believe I can do it, given time. Once you start moving, I doubt Lamia will remain here. More likely, she’ll return to her lair to defend the machine. We learned she’s not foolish. Right now we pose no threat, because she thinks we’re stuck. She can stay as long as she likes, deciding when and how to engage. But if we take that away from her…”

A week and a half she’d trailed them, never daring close enough to attack. She’d been completely unthreatened then, because she knew she could beat Glynda, but now that the machine was at stake…

Glynda remembered how fast she’d crossed Atlas to reach them once she discovered their position. She was  _ scared. _ Scared enough to attack a vessel she  _ knew _ Cinder was on.

Winter still supported herself almost entirely with the control panel at her back, but her jaw was set with a familiar determination. “We have to put her on the defense. She still isn’t attacking right now because Cinder is here. If we force her into a battle she isn’t sure about, she’ll want it on her own turf, not out here where she’s weaker.”

“But I can’t win against her,” Glynda said. “I can’t even get close.”

It was the fatal crux of any plan. Like a keystone that wouldn’t bear weight. Glynda prayed Winter had an answer to it. 

“You might not need to. Consider this an advancement our plans. It’s not ideal. We’ve lost the element of surprise, but if we can still accomplish our objectives, this might not be the end. If we mobilize every ship we have, we can move in on Lamia’s lair with three brigades worth of firepower.”

Cinder’s fists tightened at her sides, but her tongue still failed her. This didn’t escape Winter’s notice. 

“It’s only a contingency, Cinder. Once we’re in position, it’s up to you to draw her out and keep her busy. While you’re with her, we could send in a team to locate and destroy the machine. Glynda, you wouldn’t even have to get close.”

Glynda felt the spark of hope in her chest grow, warm even in this desolate wasteland. 

“From there it depends on whether you can convince her, Cinder. We’re running out of options here. If she can’t be reasoned with, this is our best opportunity: the cold, our forces…”

“You’ll kill her,” Cinder said. 

Winter slouched somewhat, breathing heavily. “I don’t know what else to do at this point. She’s out-maneuvering us. She already overpowers us. If she won’t stop hunting Glynda for you… I’m sorry, this is the best plan I can give you.”

Winter looked at both of them in turn, waiting for some kind of response. 

There were massive risks. Glynda and Cinder could survive the storm long enough to be picked up by the ships Winter would be calling, but there wasn’t any guarantee Lamia wouldn’t just attack them outright instead of retreating to her lair. And even then, this whole plan rested upon Winter being able to work as she was: still recovering from shock, completely drained of Aura. 

She would be more susceptible to the cold when the ship did eventually begin to cool. Even sealing herself within would only help so much, and that wasn’t even considering the constant strain she’d be under while she tried to get communications back up. 

And then… Assuming she did succeed and the three of them were picked up, there would still be a final confrontation with Lamia.

Green eyes cut to Cinder, who still wasn’t looking at either of them. That all depended on her. But Cinder didn’t look confident at all. She didn’t even look prepared to come face to face with her mother again, not after Lamia had shot down the ship she’d been on. 

A thousand ways it could go wrong. A million chances they wouldn’t make it out alive. 

But what else could they do now? 

“How will the ships find us?” Glynda asked, choosing to put her trust in Winter’s leadership once more. It was easier. Even with Winter like this, following her plans felt more secure. “Once you’ve called them. In this blizzard…”

Surprise crossed Winter’s face before she could smother it down. Had she not expected Glynda to go along with it? “Over there, with the rest of the supplies. There are special Scrolls there. They’re meant for long range communications. Not so long as we’d need to reach help, unfortunately, but… If you stay on the path to our original destination, our ships will find you.”

Glynda didn’t waste time. Doing nothing was killing her. She immediately went over to the drawers from earlier and began rooting through what remained. 

“It’s a small black device. Rectangular. The screen doesn’t disappear,” Winter called helpfully. “And get a compass as well. You need to be able to stay on course.”

“If Lamia does what we want, I’ll be able to sense where the machine is,” Glynda answered. She pulled a primitive looking Scroll out of the drawer, holding it up so Winter could see and asking, “Is this it?”

Winter nodded. “That’s it. Do either of you have experience surviving in this sort of climate?”

Glynda returned with the Scroll and handed it off to Winter, but stayed silent, looking to Cinder.

Vale was not known for excessively harsh winters, and Cinder’s childhood in Vacuo’s desert didn’t leave her well equipped either. Glynda had generic survival classes, but she felt out of her depth with only basic theory under her belt. She assumed Cinder had some vague idea—she was a survivor, after all—but neither of them had actual experience in this terrain.

When Cinder didn’t say anything either, Winter got the message.

“Okay. Glynda, get all the blankets out of the supply lockers. There should be food and water as well. Bottom row of drawers. Cinder, see if you can find the field-gear. It was still in the bridge when we crashed.”

Glynda obeyed without question, throwing open the storage compartment at the end of the deck. Cinder took a little longer, but also headed off to search as commanded. 

On her knees on the floor, Glynda pulled out heaps of blankets, uncovering the promised rations of food and water. Meanwhile, Winter began to work with the Scroll Glynda had given her, quickly tapping through what Glynda assumed was its initiation sequence.

“I found the coats,” Cinder called out, finally breaking her silence. 

Glynda glanced over her shoulder to see Cinder carrying a badly crumpled box back towards Winter. Winter murmured a word of thanks and handed off the Scroll to Cinder, who looked at it once and stuffed it into her coat pocket.

“Once backup arrives, we’ll use its location to find you. Keep it within earshot at all times. I’ll make sure we’re broadcasting a signal to alert you once we’re on our way. Once you get the alert, stay where you are and await pickup.”

“Will we be able to communicate with you?” Cinder asked. 

“Probably not,” Winter admitted. “Even if I get communications operational, it would only be one-way. I’d be broadcasting, not receiving.”

Glynda felt a twinge of worry at that, but it was lost among the rest of the absolute anxiety she was currently experiencing. Trying to stay focused, Glynda gathered all the supplies she could carry into a bag she found and then brought it back towards the controls. She set it where Winter could inspect the things inside. 

“Remember: you can heal frost damage and keep hypothermia at bay using your Auras,” Winter said, looking over what Glynda had brought and nodding her head. It seemed she too was trying to maintain focus here. “But you must remember to rest. Being without Aura in the middle of the Atlesian wasteland is a death sentence.

“Stay as warm as possible. Thank the stars you got warm clothes before this. You shouldn’t rely entirely on Aura, even if it feels like you can. That will only last you the first few hours. Then, as soon as you run low on Aura, you’ll start freezing to death. And as soon as you start freezing to death, you won’t be able to judge that something is wrong. This place is a hostile environment. Keep warm, keep moving, and conserve as much Aura as possible.”

Winter looked at them both, and Cinder looked as concerned as Glynda felt.

“You will be constantly spending Aura, I think. Whether it’s conscious or subconscious, your bodies will push you to stay warm, one way or another. But you can keep the losses small, at least for a while, and prolong exhaustion if you keep warm externally.”

Despite Glynda’s thick jacket and layers of wool and fleece underneath, she felt cold, ice running through her veins. Fear. She could sense the time to depart was quickly approaching. She twisted her spinner ring. 

Cinder inspected the jackets, set one aside for Winter, and took the remaining one for herself. She zipped it up all the way to her chin. Even with just one extra layer, she looked flushed in the room temperature of the cabin, already starting to overheat.

“Make sure to rest as often as you need it,” Winter said. “But stay on course and don’t get sidetracked. If you start feeling confused or sleepy, say something immediately and try to warm up with whatever means you have. Fire Semblances and Aura aside, whether you’re warming yourself or someone else, skin to skin is always warmest. Digging into the snow makes a safe shelter that’s warmer than the surface, but don’t fall asleep for too long without checking in on your Auras and temperatures. And stay hydrated out there.”

Almost as an afterthought, Winter took a bottle from the bag and uncapped it. Glynda almost leapt from her skin, lunging forward to stop her bringing it to her mouth. 

“You could be still recovering from shock,” she hurried to say. “You can’t drink or eat anything yet.”

Winter must have been unbearably dehydrated after losing so much blood, but drinking something now would have only made her sick. Until she had recovered a bit more, her organs wouldn’t be ready to accept food or drink.

Winter took a deep breath, clearly struggling to align logic with the desperate thirst she was surely feeling. Finally, she capped the bottle and said, “You’re right. Thank you, Glynda.”

Silence fell upon them. 

“Well. I guess that’s it, then,” Glynda said, feeling no more reassured than before. 

“That’s it,” Cinder agreed, looking at the floor.

Winter saw them to the door. She looked calm. Her hand often roamed to her shoulder, holding onto the rod on the emergency tourniquet as if reminding herself it was real. Despite that, she looked fiercely resolute, and Glynda had to admire her determination to stay strong even in the middle of this frozen no man’s land.  

Feeling quite surreally like students packed ready for their first field trip, Glynda and Cinder stood at the exit of the ship, staring into the endless waste beyond. Everywhere they looked, snow covered the ground, a seamless blanket of white that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Overhead, the black and red shape of Lamia circled, maintaining altitude.

Glynda adjusted the bag strap over her shoulder nervously. Cinder tossed a glance back into the ship. Their hands found one another and held on tight.

“Let’s hope she figures out where we’re headed,” Cinder said. 

Glynda closed her eyes, honing in on Lamia’s presence. “She’s smart.”

“Be safe, both of you.” Winter touched their shoulders one at a time and squeezed, her own version of comfort. Then she pointed into the endless white, raising her voice to ensure they heard her clearly over the wind. “North is that way. Stay on course. I’ll be coming for you as soon as I can.”

There was nothing to do but walk, leaving Winter in the doorway of the mangled ship by herself. 

 

*

 

It didn’t take long for Lamia to take heed. 

Glynda and Cinder set off, and Lamia immediately adjusted her flight to track their movement. She’d gone eerily quiet, the shadow of her overhead the only promise of her continued presence. 

Well, that and the overwhelming sea of her being. 

For a while, she merely followed, a black, oppressive shadow they couldn’t escape. Glynda squinted and forced herself to keep moving, her hand squeezing Cinder’s for reassurance. Every step felt like it might be the last before Lamia finally decided to end things, but there was always another that came right afterwards. 

The extra bit of exertion in pulling her feet out of the snow with every step was a surprise initially (and reminded Glynda of when she had tried to run from Cinder through deep sand dunes so long ago), but she got used to it quickly. They stayed side by side, occasionally looking up to confirm what they already knew: Lamia wasn’t leaving them.

Until—

With a roar that deafened even the howling winds, Lamia gave a powerful beat of her wings, shooting off far ahead of the two of them. Glynda and Cinder stopped moving, merely staring at her disappearing silhouette, barely visible with the snowfall. Like a great weight had been lifted, Glynda gave a sigh which escaped in a cloud. 

Cinder leaned in close, but still had to raise her voice. “She’s gone!”

Glynda nodded with relief, barely even feeling the sharp whip of the wind. She squeezed Cinder’s hand in place of turning to hug her. “Now we just follow her.”

Without Lamia hovering just overhead, it really wasn’t so bad. Glynda focused in until she could feel Lamia more clearly and pointed them in her direction. The wind came and went with varying cruelty, but the snow was consistently dense, restricting their vision to only a few yards ahead. Still, it was only weather, and compared to travelling with a dragon breathing down their necks, the journey seemed almost easy. The snow was deep, but as long as Glynda concentrated on not stumbling over the drifts, it didn’t hold them back.

They had no real way of knowing how long it would take Winter to get back in touch with the rest of the troops, but Glynda didn’t let the uncertainty slow them down. 

With Lamia gone and the weather their biggest foe, Cinder even started to look grumpy rather than fretful. Which, in Glynda’s eyes, was a good thing. 

If Cinder was still in shape to complain, there wasn’t anything to worry about. The fact that she had energy to spare for sulking about the cold proved that she was in good condition. And her hand was warm. It felt warmer than ever now that their surroundings were so cold.

After little over an hour of walking, the wind started picking up. There weren’t many options for shelter in their immediate area—no trees grew in the frozen soil, and even the blessing of rock crags was too much to ask—so they simply turned their backs on the wind to stop and have a drink of water.

They stared back the way they came, and the snow obstructed their vision. It was a strange kind of isolation, Glynda thought—not being able to see anything but a uniform storm of white everywhere they looked made her feel like they were the only two people left on Remnant. The way back looked identical to the way forwards. The only thing marking the difference was their two sets of footprints behind them. Even those were steadily filling with snow, and would later be wiped completely out by the wind.

Glynda glanced over her shoulder, and then at the footprints again. Lamia had stopped them from getting to the machine in time. But if they could lure her out, she would be weakened by the blizzard. If Cinder couldn’t persuade her, it would be their best chance of defeating her.

No doubt, Cinder was rolling the same thoughts through her head, over and over. Neither of them mentioned it now, but the plan was still clear in their minds.

Cinder twisted the cap back onto her bottle and handed it back to Glynda, who slipped it into the bag. Tugging her knit cap a little lower over her ears, Cinder said, “Let’s go.”

Glynda nodded and took her hand. She focused on the feeling of Lamia. Pointed them towards her. They started walking, guided through impossible blizzard by Glynda’s soul.

Finally, after several hours, they had come across some semblance of shelter—a rock, jutting out of the uniform landscape, a blessing of stone. It provided a wide enough shelter from the wind that both of them could huddle beneath it. Glynda lifted away the snow directly with her Semblance, digging out a shallow hole to further protect them from the elements.

Cinder was still looking surly, but she perked up a little at the idea of finally sitting down and resting for a bit. They crawled into the ditch in the snow, backs against the rock, and split some of the dry-packed food. It tasted exclusively of salt and felt like chewing plastic, but it was food, and Glynda’s Aura appreciated the assistance. Keeping her body running on pure magic was possible, but she preferred to reserve that kind of exertion for emergencies only. Her thoughts drifted to Winter and the exhaustion lurking just beneath her stern façade.

“Do you think Winter is okay?” Glynda asked in between big mouthfuls of water. Drinking in the cold felt like a chore, but she remembered what Winter had said and intended to follow her instructions to the letter. “It’s getting dark.”

Glynda had her Aura to keep out the chill, and Cinder was still using her Semblance, but Winter was in a much worse state. When the temperature dropped tonight, she’d…

“She’s fine,” came Cinder’s response, almost too quickly. When Glynda glanced her way, she was looking at her hands, half-eaten protein bar in one. “I mean, knowing her, she’s probably already gotten through.”

“You think she’s already called for backup?”

“She’s Ironwood’s favorite, isn’t she?” Cinder looked up slowly, sounding almost proud. It was as much as reassurance to herself as it was to Glynda, by the looks of it. “Any call from her is top priority. They’d answer to anything she needed.”

Glynda pulled her knees up and hugged them while Cinder—with obvious distaste—took a bite of her bar. There was an obvious question on her tongue, but she barely dared give it thought, let alone words. After a while, she said: “Then…Do you think we’ll get picked up soon?”

Cinder stared out into the raging storm. She finished chewing, taking maybe a little longer due to the toughness of the bars. Finally, she lowered her voice and said, “There’s probably an entire fleet already on their way, Glynda. I’m going to keep the Scroll tucked in my breast pocket so I know the minute they’re here. They might even come while we’re asleep.”

“They’re going to come pick us up,” Glynda said, also staring out into the blizzard. With the coming dusk, her world was slowly darkening from blinding white to a deathly black. “And then…”

_ Lamia.  _

Cinder’s expression shifted towards sickness. She looked to consider another bite of the protein bar before deciding against it, setting it aside near their supplies. 

“Yeah.” 

A gloved hand dropped over Glynda’s. Fingers traced the shape of a ring through her own thick gloves. 

“Would it…” Cinder bit her chapped lip. “Would it sound bad if I said I was scared?”

Glynda blinked. “We  _ are _ up against a dragon.”

Cinder shot her a reprimanding look. “She’s also my  _ mother.” _

“She broke your ribs,” Glynda pointed out. 

“That was an accident. This is different.” As if on reflex, Cinder’s hand withdrew, touching her side. She grimaced, then turned away, curling into a ball and facing the wall of snow. “Nevermind. You weren’t there…or, rather…you weren’t conscious when I saw her last.”

Glynda cocked her head to the side. When she and Lamia had last fought? Scooting closer, she set a hand on Cinder’s hip. 

After a moment, Cinder’s hand covered hers. 

Clearly,  _ nevermind _ wasn’t the thing Cinder really wanted to say, but old habits died hard. Especially when someone was stressed. Glynda herself could attest to that.

“I don’t think we should move while it’s dark,” Glynda said. “Staying here for the night would be best. We have time…”

“If I want to talk?”

Cinder glanced over her shoulder, and Glynda nodded. 

A huff, warm enough to escape as steam. Silence. But then: “She knew I was on board when she struck us out of the air. My Aura is powerful, but… I could have died. All of us could have. My mother had to have known that, but she was so focused on getting to you…”

In the forest outside of Corinth, Lamia hadn’t even seen Cinder until it was too late. This time, she had acted with full awareness, striking them down knowing Cinder could become a casualty. 

“The last time I saw her, she was… Glynda, I’ve never seen her so happy. She was…crying and telling me how much she’d worried about me. ...I could see it. It radiated off her. Just how much she loved me.”

“But she still shot you down with us.”

Cinder nodded stiffly, her fingers flexing over Glynda’s. There wasn’t a lot of room in their shelter to begin with, but Glynda slid even closer, lying down next to Cinder and pressing her face into the back of her neck. 

Maybe Cinder was right: she couldn’t really understand. Every time she thought of Lamia, she only felt fear. She didn’t know what it felt like to be conflicted. Even now, she didn’t want to choose between them. Cinder had told her before she’d never forgive her if she killed Lamia, and she didn’t think that had changed even now. 

But something had. 

Cinder rolled over, facing Glynda, and Glynda gently tucked her bangs back out of her face. 

Her mouth was drawn tight as a line, lips pressed hard together. The new scars from the crash ran diagonally across the entirety of her face, the skin stretched to accommodate. Her eye looked better, the swelling gone, but she would carry the marks of that encounter with her mother forever. 

Just as Glynda did. 

But then, Glynda was Lamia’s sworn enemy, and Cinder was her daughter. 

Cinder had to have been thinking the same, had probably been running through this over and over again as they marched on endlessly. “I think… I’m scared of her too, Glynda. If I can’t talk her down… I don’t know if she’d mean it, but if it came down to it… I don't know what she might do to me.”

To get to Glynda, would Lamia even see the obstacles in her path? Would she care? 

Taking one of Cinder’s hands in both of hers, Glynda pressed their foreheads together. 

She didn’t know what she could say here. She knew what she wanted to say, but she also knew that wasn’t what Cinder wanted to hear. There were two Dust rings, able to be used for offense or defense. Even if it was just to deflect a blow… 

“She could hurt me,” Cinder said finally, her eyes flickering down to their hands. 

“She could hurt you,” Glynda confirmed. 

The reluctance on Cinder’s face was clear to see. If words could choke, Glynda was sure Cinder would have been breathless from trying to force them out. Actually asking for something to defend herself from her mother was simply something she couldn’t do. 

Glynda wasn’t going to make her. 

Drawing off one of her gloves—and noting the air was considerably warmer this close to Cinder—Glynda slid the Dust ring from her ring finger. Intent as a hawk, Cinder didn’t blink, watching as Glynda then pulled her glove off, cradling her hand between the two of them. Their foreheads still touched, bodies as close together as could be managed. 

“I don’t think it’s bad you’re scared,” Glynda said as she slipped the ring on Cinder’s finger. 

A sharp inhale followed by the flexing of fingers around the new addition. The look on Cinder’s face was a mixture of relief and misery. 

“Thanks,” she whispered, lacing their fingers together once more. 

Now they matched: Glynda with her spinner ring and Cinder with the Dust ring. Glynda could barely tear her eyes away from their hands, but she could feel Cinder’s gaze on her alone. 

Glynda looked up, finding that she’d been right. Cinder was looking right at her.

Quietly, Glynda confided, “I’m scared too. But I’m less scared when I’m with you.”

“Yeah,” Cinder agreed. “Me too.”

The kiss she pressed to Glynda’s cheek was warm and fleeting. As soon as it was there, it was gone, Cinder exhaling in a warm huff against Glynda’s skin. Even here—or maybe  _ especially _ here—love felt like a lifeline. Together with Cinder, Glynda thought it was easier to be scared. She knew Cinder was scared too, but both of them kept marching on anyway.

Cinder released Glynda’s hand to put her glove back on, but Glynda didn’t follow suit just yet. Her fingers rose to Cinder’s hairline, sliding beneath the knit cap and into her hairline. 

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Glynda said. “I couldn’t do this alone.”

“I’m the one who’s going to be keeping us warm tonight,” Cinder returned, giving a slight smile. “Winter said so said herself.”

Glynda’s fingertips brushed the stubs of Cinder’s horns, and the smile dropped from her face. Clearly uncomfortable, she tilted her head away from the touch. 

Glynda retracted her fingers. “That doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“Not really,” Cinder said, but the look on her face spoke of some kind of pain. “It’s kind of just… A  _ thing _ . I don’t grow my horns out for a reason.”

“Not just because of the uh… White Fang thing?”

“Being mistaken for a Faunus certainly doesn’t  _ help,” _ Cinder explained, snuggling flush against Glynda. “But I… Well, it’s complicated.”

Glynda took that to mean it was a good time to get comfortable. She grabbed their blankets and threw them both overtop of them, tucking in the edges as best she could from this position. In the meantime, Cinder unzipped her own jacket and folded it, setting it down as a pillow for them. Then she drew down the zipper on Glynda’s and slid between the flaps, wrapping her arms around Glynda. 

It felt like a furnace had been pressed right up against Glynda, the heat suffusing through her entire body. Glynda hadn’t even felt like she’d been that cold, but now she couldn’t deny the sensation of thawing out. In response, her Aura abated, seeing no cause to continue working so hard when there was heat readily available. 

“You  _ are _ really warm, Cinder,” Glynda said. “Just don’t use too much Aura doing that.”

Cinder tangled their legs together beneath the blanket.  _ “Please. _ I told you, I’ve got more than enough to handle  _ you.” _

The memory brought a smile to both their faces. 

Cinder’s died after a moment, her gaze drifting away as she returned to the topic at hand.

“Anyway it’s… I guess it’s just kind of a reminder. ...Of who I’m supposed to be. And what I’m supposed to be doing. It reminds me I’m not supposed to be with humans, and especially not with  _ you, _ so…”

“Oh,” Glynda said. Right.  _ That _ thing. “Well, I mean…  _ I _ like your horns. They’re very…”

“Glynda, if you say my horns are very  _ me—” _

Glynda squinted at Cinder over the frame of her glasses. “I mean,  _ I _ think they are.”

“And now  _ this _ is all I’m going to be able to think about when someone touches them.” Cinder gave a roll of her eyes, clearly mocking. Still, she slid a little farther down, nestling her face into Glynda’s collarbone. “How very  _ me _ my horns are.”

“Well,” Glynda huffed. “They are. Even if they’re small. Actually,  _ especially _ because they’re small.” 

_ “Glynda.” _

Glynda squeezed Cinder closer, setting her head down on the folded jacket Cinder had made into their pillow. Reaching down to wrestle the flaps of her own jacket around Cinders back, she pulled the zipper together and up so the two of them shared one coat. If Cinder had any complaints, she kept them to herself, getting comfortable.

There was nothing left to do but wait for Winter to come through now. It should have scared her, but even with the temperature steadily dropping as night came and the storm raging around them, as long as they were together, Glynda knew they could make it. 


	25. Chapter 25

A beam of light shone through the opening in the dugout.

Glynda blinked at it wearily, somewhere between dazed and drowsy. It was blurry, and instinctively, she reached for her glasses, folded neatly in front of her. The mass attached to her front stirred—Cinder, Glynda remembered—but didn’t rouse, and Glynda managed to work her stiff fingers enough to open her glasses and push them onto her face.

Through the small opening, she observed as whirlwinds of snow hissed by, a soft, faint light promising the sun had already risen. The storm, however, raged on, winds howling past the entrance.

Awareness came slowly, Glynda only discovering her limbs felt rigid as wood when she tried to move them. She curled her fingers and toes, finding a worrying numbness in both, the tips slightly painful. Glynda exhaled, her breath forming clouds in the air.

Somehow, in the night, it had gotten colder.

As Glynda tugged the blankets tighter around herself and bent her legs inward as much as she could, Cinder shifted again. Her face was pressed into Glynda’s chest, her arms linked around Glynda’s waist. The heat emanating off her had cooled to barely noticeable embers.

In response, Glynda’s Aura flickered to life, flaring across her skin. As it thawed her limbs, she touched the back of Cinder’s head. “Cinder?”

Against her, Cinder grumbled.

It was already morning. Glynda hadn’t expected to sleep through the night. The Scroll Winter had given them was supposed to alert them when their backup was close, and if it was light out, it had to have been hours since they left Winter alone. Glynda felt across Cinder’s back, locating the zipper to the jacket they were both cocooned in and dragging it down.

A sleepy murmur drifted up from Cinder, her eyes cracking open as she flopped down on her back. Glynda pushed up onto her elbow, trying to get inside Cinder’s coat.

“Wh—” Cinder groused, blinking a few times and grabbing for Glynda’s hand. Her scars made her hazy confusion look more severe and demanding. “What are you doing?”

“Where’s the Scroll Winter gave you?” It would have the time on it, giving them a more accurate idea of just how long it had been. “Has it gone off? It’s already morning.”

Cinder struggled to comprehend, still fighting off sleep, but Glynda found the Scroll when she patted the breast pocket of Cinder’s coat. With more than a few grumbles from Cinder, she was able to work it out of the pocket, tapping the button to activate it. The display brightened, the time displayed in white: _9:47._

Glynda felt her stomach drop. It was late morning. More than enough time had passed. Where was their rescue?

A little frantic, she bypassed the lock screen and searched for some sign that they’d missed the signal. The device was foreign, but it looked like they genuinely hadn’t missed anything.

Cinder sat up, squinting and wrapping her arms around herself. She peered out the dugout’s entrance. Clearing her throat, she asked, “It went off?”

“No,” Glynda responded, her voice flat and hollow. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she looked up from the Scroll at Cinder. Surprise showed on Cinder’s expression. “I don’t think so.”

“Let me see,” Cinder said, taking the Scroll.

Her eyes narrowed as she searched for signs that the signal had already come. Glynda hoped she’d find something. It would be understandable. If it was a small buzz or a quick message, they’d have slept through it. But Glynda watched with mounting apprehension as Cinder’s brow knit, concern etching itself onto her face in stages.

Glynda reached for her spinner ring before remembering her gloves. She pulled them off quickly and allowed her fingers to dance over the carvings on the ring. “You don’t think—”

“She’s fine,” Cinder said before she could finish. She was chewing her lip. It looked like that line wasn’t working like it had last night. “There’s probably just… I don’t know. The storm? It’s slowing them down. Maybe Winter had to return to the city for medical and… And the new person in charge is just really slow.”

Sitting up as well, Glynda stared down at the Scroll in Cinder’s hands. “How long do you think it will be?”

Cinder’s fingers tightened around the Scroll. “I don’t know. Soon.”

Glynda’s spinner ring spun. “I’m worried.”

“Don’t be,” Cinder insisted. She looked worried too. “They’re on their way.”

Glynda didn’t respond. Cinder’s words didn’t make her feel better. She felt cold, and not just from the weather. Ice laced her veins, her expression frozen into a thousand yard stare. She was looking down at the Scroll, but she wasn’t really seeing it.

What happened if Winter didn’t get through? What happened if something had happened to Winter before she could get their message through? What were they going to do?

The void expanded in her chest with her lungs, squeezing tight on her next exhale. They were hours from civilization, and that was by airship. By foot, they could have been days away from any help, and that was only assuming they even knew which way to go. They weren’t Winter. They couldn’t plot azimuths. Glynda could only navigate in one direction: north, towards Lamia.

If rescue wasn’t on the way, where did that leave them?

Glynda flinched when arms slid around her neck, drawing her down into a tight hug. Cinder was awake now, and from the heat of her touch, Glynda assumed she was stoking her Aura again.

Turning her face into Glynda’s hair, Cinder said, “It’s fine. We’re okay.”

“I’m worried,” Glynda repeated. Her ring continued to spin.

“I know… Me too,” Cinder admitted. “But we’re okay here. We can wait.”

Calculations ticked in Glynda’s head. That was true, they could wait. How long? How long would it take? Would they even know if Winter couldn’t get through? There had been nothing else to do but trust that she’d make it, but now Glynda found herself troubled with just what would happen if she didn’t.

“I didn’t take a compass,” Glynda said, her voice cracking just a bit. “I thought we were only going north. I don’t know how to get back. I can only sense Lamia—”

Cinder’s embrace tightened. “We aren’t going back. We don’t need to. We just need to wait, Glynda… Winter is fine. She _has_ to be. She’s going to come and get us.”

Sucking in a taut breath, Glynda said, “I don’t know what to do if she doesn’t.”

The only place Glynda could find with absolute certainty was Lamia’s lair.

With a flare of Cinder’s Aura, the chill in the air dissipated. There was even a sheen of moisture along the walls of the dugout. Glynda’s own Aura receded, allowing Cinder to warm her. Glynda let herself to be held for a while longer without saying anything. It was comforting in a way Cinder’s wavering tone wasn’t.

Waiting. Glynda hated it. She hated being stuck with this feeling of dread, but what else could they do? Their other options were to wander away from Lamia in the raging blizzard, and hope someone found them in time before their Auras depleted.

Either that, or continue straight ahead. Follow true north and end up in Lamia’s home.

Glynda could feel her even now, a black hole that drew her inexorably closer. Her soul had never survived an encounter with Lamia, but she was still a Grimm, and because of that Glynda would always feel that pull.

“We can’t wait forever,” Glynda finally said, disentangling from Cinder and scooting back. The look on Cinder’s face was wretched feebleness. She knew Cinder was trying to help, but it didn’t change the facts of their situation. Glynda pressed her back to the wall of the dugout and spun her ring. “She should have been here by now. The longer we wait, the worse this will be.”

After a long moment to collect the jacket she’d laid out as a pillow for them, Cinder followed, blankets in hand. She cautiously wrapped one around Glynda and then slid in underneath it. She leaned on Glynda’s shoulder and set a hand atop Glynda’s thigh, careful not to disrupt the repetitive motion of her hands.

They had supplies. Another day or two worth of protein bars and a few more bottles of water. The real danger here was using too much Aura without giving themselves a real chance to recover.

“How long should we wait?” Glynda asked. She needed to know they had a plan.

Cinder glanced at her, lifting her head for just a second before dropping it back on her shoulder. Miserably, she said, “I don’t know.”

“We can’t wait forever,” Glynda repeated.

“Maybe we won’t have to.”

Cinder had the uncanny knack for faking optimism without ever sounding optimistic. Or maybe that was just simple denial.

As if she knew what Glynda was thinking, Cinder said, “Let’s just see… Give her…give her four hours. I can keep us warm in the meantime.”

To prove her point, she blazed hotter. It was almost beginning to get stuffy beneath all Glynda’s layers. She thought it was too much, but supposed Cinder was trying to make her feel better.

It did, on some level. On another, it just reminded her that once their Auras had been completely exhausted, they would be at the true mercy of the elements. Even with their impressive Auras, they wouldn’t be able to withstand this cold forever.

Even Witches eventually ran out of Aura, no matter how endless it seemed. Even Witches died.

Glynda turned her face into Cinder’s hair, but her expression was drawn, serious. “Don’t use too much Aura.”

“I know my limits,” Cinder returned, a little sharply.

“Okay,” Glynda said. “Just be careful.”

She herself would have to start keeping careful track of how much she had left. Right now she still felt strong, but that was because Cinder was providing all the heat. Last night she’d hardly used any to keep herself warm. But she might need to, so she told herself to be vigilant. Winter had said it could be hard to judge if they were out for too long, after all.

Glynda thought there was nothing more to talk about. There wasn’t much room for levity when all she could think of was what would happen if Winter didn’t come.

But after a long lapse of silence, Cinder said, “If we have to leave… We need to go toward my mother. We won’t make it if we try to find our way back.”

Glynda nodded without saying anything. She had already decided that herself, but hearing Cinder say it was a confirmation of her worst fears. If Winter didn’t come through, their only path was forward. Lamia was waiting for them, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go.

She thought that was all Cinder was going to say. With the looming prospect of going forward hanging over them, Glynda could barely stand to talk herself.

But after another long silence, Cinder said: “And… If we have to do this alone… I’ll take care of my mother. I don’t want you to fight her again. I’ll try to draw her outside, and you can go in and destroy the machine. I’ll make her see that she can’t hurt you anymore.”

Glynda wanted to believe that, but Cinder was terrible at sounding sure of herself when it came to her mother. Instead of breeding confidence, Cinder’s doubt only inspired a boulder to drop into Glynda’s stomach.

“Four hours,” Glynda said. It was the only thing she could manage.

If Cinder knew what her lack of response to her promise meant, she didn’t say.

*

Hours later, the only thing that had changed was the temperature in the dugout.

Cinder found herself having to concentrate to put out the same amount of heat, and even that was beginning to fatigue her. Finally, she had to stop and give her Aura a break, and when she did, the cold began to creep back in.

She checked the Scroll from Winter regularly, but the signal never came. Glynda didn’t hide the way she snapped to attention every time Cinder pulled out the Scroll, and she didn’t hide the way she deflated every time she put it away without saying anything.

It was getting harder and harder to believe that Winter had made it through. Dark thoughts swirled, each one of them depicting Winter’s final moments in the broken hull of her ship, lonely and terrified. She knew the cold. Would she know she was dying if it came to that? Winter had always been a realist. Cinder thought she would, and her stomach churned.

As Cinder itched with fear, Glynda absolutely radiated it. She was stiff, never quite comfortable with the simple act of sitting and waiting. Like a virus, Glynda’s anxiety infected Cinder. Her own dread eagerly fed on Glynda’s, and in return, her heightened anxiety made Glynda even more restless.

Quiet, cramped, and cooling defined the dugout, their bodies pressed together but bursting at the seams with nervous energy as the time ticked down. Cinder’s fingers drummed across her own thighs, her legs drawing in and then kicking out.

She checked the Scroll again. Glynda turned to look. Still nothing. Her sharp exhale misted in front of her.

The time read 13:21.

Four hours was almost up.

Drumming her fingers faster, Cinder chewed her bottom lip and glanced toward the entrance. Flurries of powdered snow rushed by, whipping at the world outside their temporary shelter with no signs of letting up. What were their chances now? What would they be if they waited here another night?

She knew Glynda was right: they couldn’t wait forever. It had already been almost a full twenty-four hours since they’d been struck from the sky.

They needed to do something. But all their options were bad.

Cinder checked the Scroll again. Nothing. 13:29.

“Cinder,” Glynda said, finally breaking the silence which had festered between them for hours. Cinder held her breath, but she knew what was coming next. “I think we need to go. It’s been almost—”

“I know,” Cinder snapped. Her Aura was already feeling taxed. She knew they couldn’t stay out here forever. “I know.”

She glanced at their supplies, trying to stall. An hour ago, they’d both forced themselves to drink a bottle of water and eat a protein bar. There was no sense in having more so soon. Cinder checked the Scroll again, praying for something.

Nothing. Her heart was in her throat.

A hand on her shoulder made her final, hopeful plea crumble. She turned and looked at Glynda, her own dismal expression reflected back at her. Her hands were shaking. So were Glynda’s.

They had to go. They had to assume the worst. Waiting would only make their situation more dire.

“Okay,” Cinder finally conceded, tucking the Scroll away in her breast pocket again. “Let’s go.”

Glynda put her gloves back on and shouldered the backpack with the rest of their supplies. Cinder gathered up their blankets and tied one around her own shoulders and one around Glynda’s. They held hands and crawled out of the dugout.

Outside, the snow and wind whipped at them furiously. Cinder felt it cut right through her layers, chilling her to the bone instantly. Her Aura was slow in pushing it out.

Glynda took her hand away to point. The wind was too loud to hear her, but Cinder could read her lips: _that way._

There was nothing else to do. They had to go forward. There was no going back. They had to assume Winter hadn’t gotten through to anyone, or that she…

Cinder started walking, following behind Glynda. She tried to push out the thoughts of what might be. She tried to cling to the belief that maybe Winter’s Scroll would buzz while they walked. She made sure to pay attention to it as they went.

They walked for hours.

Each minute spent in the cold sapped Cinder’s Aura. The energy she spent keeping herself warm wasn’t returning to her. It was like the weather drained her. Where the warmth of the sun and blazing fire rekindled her Aura, gave it fuel to grow, the cold blizzard sucked it from her marrow. It felt like she was exhaling Aura with every breath, and each inhale only brought more cold in, more choking ice to strangle her soul. She wasn’t regaining any of it. She was being drained, bit by bit.

But she could make it. She was certain she could make it. Had to make it.

The blizzard was unforgiving. Unrelenting. Every step Cinder took was punished by the wind pushing against her. Her legs ached distantly every time she pulled them through the thick snow. It felt like walking through swamp, through quicksand, like glue sucking at her boots with each step.

All she saw was white. The only break in the constant blinding snow was Glynda’s back in front of her, dark fabrics contrasting starkly. Glynda knew the way. Even without contact to Winter or anyone else, Glynda would lead them. Through hell and high water, Glynda would get them through, would bring them home safe in the end.

She couldn’t believe their greatest advantage over her mother had turned against them like this. The weather, of all things. A blizzard. It was ridiculous. It was cruel.

Every gust of wind felt like a thousand needles pricking her face, and Cinder huddled deeper into her coats, trying to shield herself.

Did her mother know they were coming?

The pain stuck deep in her chest.

Every breath from her mouth was a cloud of white smoke, moisture from her exhale gathering inside her coat collar and freezing. She kept her hands in her pockets, closed into fists to warm her fingers against her palms.

She watched Glynda’s back. There was nothing else to look at. If she lost sight of Glynda, she would never find her way.

What was her mother thinking right now? Had she finally, truly understood? Did she finally, truly realize her own daughter had betrayed her? She couldn’t help her thoughts from drifting back to this over and over now that they were marching into their last, desperate encounter with Mother.

Cinder’s body moved automatically. One foot in front of the other. The constant rhythm of her steps, her heart, her breath.

At least Emerald and Mercury were safe. They hated it at Beacon, but they were safe.

She had Glynda’s word on that.

Left, right, left, right.

Mother had spared Cinder last time, but in the time since then, she’d put Cinder in danger to stop Glynda. Had she settled her mind? Surely, she would have. Cinder would have if she were her. Next time, there would be no mercy.

Would Mother hesitate at all?

Cinder imagined she wouldn’t. Memories of the Mountain Glenn laboratory flashed through Cinder’s mind—the feeling of being her mother, of doing her mother’s deeds. She was not the kind of person who hesitated before a kill.

The sight of Glynda’s back was hazier now, separated from her by a flurry of snowflakes. Cinder sniffled. She didn’t feel that cold. All she had to do was catch up. Easy. She worked her legs mechanically, vaguely registering how she couldn’t feel them.

If things went badly, would anyone ever wonder where Cinder Fall had gone?

Would Winter be able to find their bodies?

Was Winter even still alive?

Silence.

For a long time, all Cinder could see was white. It pressed against her eyes, too blinding, too intense.

She squinted against it until she realized she was lying down, on her side, face pressed against the unforgiving blanket. The wind blew the snow to her, piling it heavily against her body.

It was soft.

She felt warm.

Would Glynda realize she had stopped following?

Her body was a numb shell, detached from her mind, another entity altogether, and the separation felt good.

Why did this even matter?

Cinder couldn’t remember. The whole trip was a fool’s errand. Pointless.

Bit by bit, she let her eyes close. Just for a minute. Just until Glynda came back to get her. She was so tired. Glynda would forgive her for taking a moment to rest.

The brightness of the snow pierced even her closed eyelids, but the painful glare of it diminished to a soft, comfortable glow.

She couldn’t feel her body. After all the beatings she had taken the past few months, it was a pleasant change of pace. She tried to remember the last time she had felt this tired, but drew a blank and discarded it.

Sleep. Just for a while.

The comfortable haze settling over her was harshly interrupted by a pair of hands, grabbing her shoulders and turning her over. She thought she heard a voice mixed in with the howling wind, but she couldn’t be sure.

The hands shook her, gently at first. When she failed to respond, the shaking got rougher.

Finally, Cinder forced her eyelids to cooperate, cracking them open through the sluggishness of near-sleep. She saw the vague outline of a person, blurry and dimmed by her eyelashes. Glynda was rearing back, as if she planned to—

Before she could force her tired brain to understand what Glynda was saying to her, Glynda hit her across the face with a flat hand. Though some drowsy part of Cinder’s brain was able to recognize that Glynda hadn’t used her full strength, the sting from her frozen cheek cut deep through the fog.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Cinder snarled, finally opening her eyes enough to let Glynda’s face come back into focus.

Glynda’s palm and fingers were bright red, either from the slap or from the cold. She shook Cinder again. “Get up,” she said. There was no room for conversation in her tone. It was an order. “Come on.”

Cinder squinted. She had half a mind to refuse outright. Forcing her tired body to move was no easy task.

Glynda hit her again. Cinder swore, louder this time. Anger was the only thing that made her want to rise, and even that barely took the edge off her exhaustion. She tried to get her feet under herself. Braced her hands against the burning ground.

There was no strength in her. She got to her hands and knees, but when she tried putting her feet on the ground and rise, her knees buckled under her weight. Glynda caught her, refusing to let her lie down again.

It didn’t hurt. She wasn’t even cold. She had stopped shivering a while ago.

But Glynda wouldn’t let her rest.

Glynda was talking to her again, but she couldn’t understand the words at all. Before she could parse it, everything went blurry again, before every speck of consciousness was swallowed by darkness.

 

*

 

Cinder had no way of knowing how much time had passed when she came to. She felt her Aura, stuttering across her skin, struggling to survive. She must have received a boost of Glynda’s Aura. She felt like she was emerging from the bottom of a deep lake, but the surface was still too far away.

The wind wasn’t assaulting her skin anymore. Cinder forced her heavy eyelids open for what felt like the hundredth time. All she could see was tones of blue packed around them, and Glynda sitting on her knees in front of her.

“Where are we?” she asked.

Glynda looked at her briefly, a concerned twist to her mouth. She didn’t respond, and turned back to what she was doing. Cinder realized Glynda was unzipping her fleece and wool shirt, pulling them off. Confusion welled up from the depths of Cinder’s sleepy mind, followed by distant concern.

“You’ll freeze,” she said.

Glynda looked at her again, with the same concerned look, and didn’t say anything. Cinder felt distant annoyance building inside her. Why wouldn’t Glynda answer her?

If only she hadn’t been so heavy. She could’ve given the Witch a real piece of her mind.

“Why aren’t you answering me?” Cinder demanded.

Glynda reached over and unzipped Cinder’s jacket.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Glynda said. “I’m sorry.”

What? Cinder frowned. Glynda reached into Cinder’s pocket and took Winter’s Scroll from her.

“Pull your arms into your sleeves,” Glynda said.

Cinder squinted up at her. What was she talking about?

Cinder didn’t have time to piece it together before Glynda ran out of patience. Like helping a child dress, she unbuttoned Cinder’s coat. She got under her shirt and pulled her out of the sleeves. Folded her arms and tucked her hands under her armpits. Skin to skin. Cinder tried bringing her arms back down, but the attempt was slow and laborious, too much for her to manage.

Then Glynda buttoned the coat back up. The shirts she had just discarded were packed onto Cinder as well. Finally, she zipped the thick winter coat over it all. Glynda kept a bare minimum of warm clothes, putting her own coat back on and sticking the Scroll into her own pocket.

“I dug out a temporary shelter in the snow while you were out,” Glynda said lowly. She shifted her weight nervously from knee to knee. “The snow is so deep, it’s easy to—…Anyway, you need to stay awake. Okay?”

“I’m so tired,” Cinder said. She wasn’t sure if Glynda understood her.

She felt unbearably warm, but her arms were trapped inside the coat, preventing her from taking any layers off and cool herself. The heat raced through her like a fit, nauseating and disorienting. She was happy, though, that Glynda had dug out a burrow for her to rest in. A small nook under the snow, a shelter to curl up in. She could make herself as small as possible, in a quiet safe nest, and sleep. If she could choose to hide or die, Cinder would hide. Sleep. Rest. The burrow was warm, but exhaustion was stronger than overheating.

“Listen to me,” Glynda said intensely, leaning over Cinder until her face filled her field of vision entirely. This close, she could see the redness around Glynda’s eyes. She had cried earlier. While Cinder was asleep, maybe. Now she was serious. Taking charge.

“You’re freezing to death, Cinder. Stay with me. Keep your Aura working. I’ll help you. If you go to sleep here, you’ll die.”

 

*

 

The cold bit significantly deeper without most of her layers of clothing, but Glynda grit her teeth against it defiantly. The wind felt like lashes of a whip across her face, every snowflake that hit her skin was a needle, and every breath through her lungs felt like a razor carving her insides apart.

Yet, her feet moved. Her heart beat. She lived. She breathed. She walked.

Cinder was still conscious, if barely. By some miracle, she had listened to Glynda. She listened, and fought to stay awake. A sliver of watery gold followed Glynda’s face, staring with all the focus a person in Cinder’s condition could muster.

Did she understand what was happening? Had Cinder managed to latch on to the idea and realize she was in danger? Or was she merely following orders, blindly letting Glynda’s words guide her through the haze?

Countless lessons in survival flooded Glynda’s brain. She had never been in the field battling cold before. She had theory lessons and Winter’s instructions. That was all.

It was enough to recognize all the ways Cinder’s body was giving up. Stupidly, she had relied on Cinder to be able to monitor her own condition, as if judgement wasn’t the first thing the cold would rob from her.

Her temperature had dropped without Glynda knowing, and by the time Cinder should have noticed, she had been too delirious to say anything. Her body wanted so badly to give up, to let her die. If she’d been anyone else, Glynda wouldn’t have been able to hone in on her position after she’d finally noticed she wasn’t following.

If she’d been anyone else, Cinder would have simply stayed there until the snow coaxed the last breath from her frozen lungs.

Every time Glynda asked her a question or told her to do something, Cinder only responded with confusion. Bit by bit, her brain was shutting down. Clouding her judgement. The cold incapacitated rationality. Glynda forgot why. She tried to think of the medical reasons, the scientific terms, if only to have something concrete on her mind, but it was a futile effort.

Cinder would die. Glynda knew that. If she couldn’t get Cinder to a safe place, a warm place, she would die.

Fear drove every step Glynda took, and Death nipped at her heels. She had carried Cinder for about an hour and a half, all bundled up in her aching arms. Weariness was settling in every part of her, but as often as she could, Glynda paused to lay her hand against Cinder’s skin and give her Aura some of her own.

Glynda knew she would hit a wall at some point, that there was only so much she could do to keep both herself and Cinder going. That eventually, even her Aura would run dry. It had happened in the desert with Cinder. It had happened in her second fight with Lamia.

It was happening now.

Witch or not, eventually she would have to choose between saving herself or saving Cinder. She could only pray she found shelter before that. She could only hope to beat Death to the finish line.

She stopped and pulled Winter’s Scroll from her pocket, holding Cinder to her chest with just one arm like a fragile child. The Scroll still lit up, alive with battery power, but there was still no signal that rescue was on the way. Even checking was a futile grasp at fading hope, but Glynda couldn’t stop herself from pulling it out at frequent intervals. She had to know. Had to confirm to herself over and over again that they had failed. That they were alone. That they would die.

Bit by bit, she let her emotions be swallowed in favor of Aura. The more she let the Witch void rise up around herself, the more her soul brimmed with power. The more she could share with Cinder. The clearer her compass became. It wasn’t endless, but with a deeper void came less concern.

She knew which way Cinder’s mother was. It was her only guiding light. Turning around, trying to find their way back, was an impossible thought. The only beacon she had was forwards.

She knew now, after the last fatal encounters, that Cinder’s mother could easily kill her. In their current state, they stood no chance against Lamia.

It was the only way she knew to go. She clung to a waning hope that she could get to Lamia’s lair in time to save Cinder. That somehow, the dragon wouldn’t attack on sight, and she could push Cinder’s body to live.

She walked. Towards true north. Towards Cinder’s mother. Towards the death of all things. Her tears were only warm on her skin for a few seconds before cooling to match her body temperature.

Either the cold or the dragon. Death waited no matter what.

Even as the void deprived her of sensations like fear and physical suffering, her desperation still cut through, an uncharacteristic shard of pain remaining in her heart. She barely felt the pain of her sobs anymore. The tracks of tears were freezing on her cheeks.

The only clear signal in her brain was to keep going. Keep going. Keep going.

As if another person’s hands were pushing her forwards, the will to keep walking seemed more powerful than her own mind. She couldn’t stop. She repeated the same set of actions, like a machine, like clockwork; one foot in front of the other. Check the Scroll. Share her Aura with Cinder.

Even with the transfers, Cinder was dying. Blue—not just her lips and ears anymore; all the skin Glynda could see was pale and blue. She was awake and alive, but her breaths were shallow. Though she was conscious, she was unresponsive, a deep trance of death shrouding her. Her body was giving up. Her body was inviting death, ready now to finally surrender. Every minute spent in the frozen Atlas waste was another tick down on the short countdown for Cinder’s life.

Glynda heard herself crying even through the wind howling around her ears. She didn’t have the strength of will to stop. Crying didn’t bring her any catharsis, but it was the only response her tired body could manage. Exhausted, drained of sensations and rationality, she cried.

Her soul brimmed, a raging river of power keeping frozen death at bay, but her heart was cold as ice.

One foot in front of the other. Cinder mumbled something, but her words were so quiet and slurred together it was impossible to know what she was saying. She had been like that ever since she had collapsed. Glynda didn’t know if it was because Cinder didn’t have the mental resources to string together a coherent sentence, or if she didn’t have the physical strength to enunciate. It could be both.

It was impossible to miss how her voice was weaker than ever now.

Glynda tightened her arms around Cinder, as if trying to reassure her, holding her close to her chest as she walked. There was no warmth in Cinder. Where her skin used to radiate heat, glowing with the fire that burned inside her, only embers remained. Choking, sputtering, the remains of a dying fire.

She should have known. Shouldn’t have let Cinder fool them all. Cinder had even tricked herself into thinking she would be okay. Glynda should have seen through it. Should have said something. Should have been more careful. This was her fault. She had been too focused on the road ahead and had walked Cinder to her death.

Cinder hadn’t even wanted to come. She’d wanted them to stay with Winter. Would things have been different now if they had? Would Cinder still be dying?

Glynda stopped. Pressed her hand against Cinder’s cheek. Pushed Aura through her skin, into her soul. She felt the large cavity there. There was no Aura left. She gave her some, and felt the hungry pull as Cinder’s body demanded more.

She gave as much as she could. Checked the Scroll again. Nothing. Cinder’s Aura jittered across her skin in waves, desperately fending off frostbite and forcing her heart to keep beating. Cinder’s lips moved, but there was no sound. Her eyes closed for a long time, and then opened again, still looking at Glynda. Whether Cinder actually saw her or not was another matter entirely.

Glynda didn’t know how far she still had to walk. All she knew was that she was going the right way, following the stationary pressure of Cinder’s mother. It loomed over her own soul like a mountain, casting her in its shadow. The constant prickling on her back and neck was reassuring.

She felt so alone.

Going the right way. Keep going. One foot in front of the other. Cinder slowly closed her eyes again, and Glynda kept an eye on her to make sure she opened them again. Her Aura hiccupped and died out. Glynda stopped, and put her hand on Cinder’s cheek. She felt the end of her own Aura drawing near, like scraping her fingers against the bottom of a water bucket.

Keeping herself going was a constant drain on her Aura now that the cold had pierced through cloth defenses. Having to split it between herself and Cinder was depleting it faster. She would run out of Aura, such a rare and frightening thing to a Witch, and then she would die.

No one could help them.

Cinder was on death’s door. Soon, Glynda would be truly alone, and then she would die.

She didn’t know how she kept going after that realization struck. Death still terrified her, but instead of paralyzing her, it hounded her steps, urging her onwards in some hopeless race to defeat it.

She didn’t know how long she had walked, or how long was left. She couldn’t focus on the passage of time. She had to focus on keeping Cinder breathing. On keeping herself walking.

She checked the Scroll. Nothing. No hope of rescue.

It felt like forever had passed, and another eternity remained between her and her destination. Her legs longed to stumble, to finally trip her and send her tumbling through the snow. She tried to be honest with herself: would she be able to get back up and continue, knowing there was no way back, knowing there was no victory ahead?

She didn’t know. The fact that she didn’t know was scary. If she didn’t get back up, she would die. That scared her. But the thought of going on scared her, too.

The way forwards was death. The way back was death. Did it matter? She forced fear away, holding it at bay, feeling the crushing ocean of emptiness swallowing it. She held fear under the water until it didn’t come back.

In that depth of her emptying soul, Glynda felt a spark of warmth.

Maybe the clouds parted. Maybe the wind let up for just a moment. Clarity like a guiding hand in her own, pulling her attention to something she was too deep in despair to see. Glynda’s eyes pierced the veil of snow and fell upon a massive dark shape that rose out of the ground. For a moment, her heart stopped in her chest as the claws upon her neck hooked harder than before.

Silence reigned. It wasn’t the dragon. She exhaled. Inhaled. The snow blocked the sight from her for a few moments, and then let up again.

The faint feeling of being guided persisted, driving her to move forwards again. Like a hand in hers, like the back of someone ahead carving a path for her to follow, a presence egged her on, new boldness in her every step. What she had found in the middle of the frozen arctic, in the depths of her empty soul, was a friend. A third person, besides herself and Cinder, a companion she couldn’t see. Couldn’t identify. Couldn’t control.

It felt safe. It felt warm. It was a friend, invisible but strong. Whatever—whoever it was, the support they offered was nearly overwhelming, and Glynda set her jaw, following its guidance with new determination.

She had heard about this phenomenon, in survival lessons received and given over the years. The Third Man. A beacon of light to people stranded and struggling to survive. She had passed knowledge of it to her own students, every year, as part of a course on recognizing and handling trauma.

It was ironic, somehow, that she was experiencing it herself after so many years—she, a Witch cut off from human emotion, usually outside and above the parameters of human trauma.

The invisible, supportive third presence was not real. She was fabricating it. She was hallucinating. She knew that.

It didn’t go away. Textbook knowledge hadn’t dispelled it. She was glad. Her poor, dying brain could at least feel less alone, even if it was an illusion. The presence comforted her. Its guiding light felt familiar—a projection of her own mind—like a reflection in an unsettled pond, similar but distorted in unpredictable ways. Like an ancient echo tying species to their ancestors, she felt pieces of herself and those she loved in it.

She couldn’t see the third person, her imaginary guide. But their warmth, the comfort they brought, the inspiration to continue—to her crumbling mind, those were real.

She walked, faster now, eyes fixed on the black shape that rose before her. What she was seeing was a mountain, piercing tall and jagged into the far sky. Glynda couldn’t see the snow-covered top. Massive and silent, the mountain felt more like an omen than a blessing.  

She stared up at it as she walked, marching with newfound strength towards it. Her friend pulled her along, whispering words of encouragement and support, always just outside her field of vision and just barely within earshot.

This was true north. At the ends of the world, this was a wilderness no human had or should ever wander through. Rising black crags, splitting the white clouds, sharp rock carving an oppressive silhouette against the sky. As if the rock face tore a hole in the cloud layer, she could see black sky beyond, and silhouetting the peak of the tallest mountain, the bright white moon. Shattered, but friendly to the Witch that carried its damaged soul.

A shiver crawled down her spine. True north. Lamia’s hideout. She stopped, for a moment lost in awe of it all, but snapped out of it and looked down at Cinder. She was still in her stupor, alive and conscious but unresponsive.

Glynda’s hand was numb and blue, and she couldn’t feel the touch of Cinder’s cheek when she pressed against it yet again. She calmly assessed her own power reserves. She wasn’t completely dry of Aura, not yet, but she was far from battle-ready. Not good. Not good enough.

Glynda forced her foot out of the deep snow, taking one step, another, a third. The mountain was within reach. She just had to cross the white field before her.

To keep her mind from lapsing into lethal dormancy, she tried to take stock of the situation again. They had failed to destroy the machine, and in this state, Cinder couldn’t fulfill her promise to reason with her mother. There was nothing to do but fight, but Glynda couldn’t even afford to draw Lamia out where she was weaker—not if it meant keeping Cinder out here, too. Glynda had to get Cinder inside the mountain. Inside, where Lamia was waiting. Where Lamia was at her strongest.

The impossibility of it all was laughable, but Glynda couldn’t smile.

If Cinder was at all aware of her surroundings, she didn’t show it, even as they entered the windless field where the mountain sheltered them from the blizzard. The moon shone down from above. To finally receive relief from the constant whipping of wind and snow was a blessing by itself.

Like comforting hands of a mother on her aching cheeks, turning her face the right way, her invisible friend pointed her to a darker blackness in the mountain’s shape. A mouth of darkness at its base, big enough for ancient Grimm, a massive gaping hole into the mountain.

A cave. No—an entrance.

Glynda walked as quickly as she was able to, almost stumbling over her own numb legs with the need to reach her destination at last. A desperate ache to finally be there, to finally be allowed to stop.

She wouldn’t be allowed to rest. She knew that. She would have to fight Lamia, and die, and only pray that Cinder would somehow make it afterwards. That Lamia wouldn’t kill her only daughter.

Somehow, she felt okay with that. At least for now, with her subconscious conjuring supportive friends and her body too numb to feel the cold. At least for now, when Cinder’s life was so close to saving.

Glynda stumbled in through the cave’s mouth, finally pulling her feet from the hindering snow. Her legs were covered in it still, and it fell from her in clumps as she walked across the rough stone floor. Her pant legs were stiff with frost, her shoes matted with powdered snow, but taking steps seemed so much easier. Her legs felt free and light at last.

The moonlight, bouncing off the white snow, illuminated the mouth of the cave just enough to see. It was rough, natural deformations in the rock casting shadows down the hall at random. Despite being natural rock, however, the walls and floor were smooth—polished down by centuries of use, no doubt. Glynda envisioned hundreds of ancient Grimm tunneling their way out of the mountain; thousands more coming and going from their nest every year. A chill ran down her spine.

She felt Lamia, below them now. The cave sloped, and with the sloping came darkness. The faint moonlight faded from her as she turned a gentle curve in the path. Soon, complete darkness surrounded her, with only her instincts to guide her onwards.

Lamia’s presence was oppressive, a choking feeling like smoke in her lungs, but Glynda’s soul was black with void and she felt more precisely than ever where Lamia was. She was in her smaller, humanoid hide. Waiting. Below. Far, far below. So, they were still safe from her. There was still road left to walk.

A warmer gust from the bowels of Remnant tickled her cheek. She inhaled the traces of fire and brimstone and squeezed Cinder tighter to her chest.

There were no thoughts left on her mind. Only the slowly spiraling descent ahead.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i convinced KIBITZER to split this chap so y'all could have it early and also we could have a good even 30 chapters :3c

Down, down, down, down.

The cavern grew warmer as Glynda descended. It was a long way down, but she quickly realized why Lamia would choose a place like this. It was a spiraling path into what could only be the core of a volcano, a vein of scorching magma buried under the mountain. Miles and miles beneath the frozen wasteland, buried so deep it was impossible to feel from the surface, the heart-veins of Remnant itself ran hot and thick with molten rock.

A dragon would thrive. A distant blazing sun or a lit brazier was enough to hone Cinder’s strength, but a cavern at the bottom of the world, a hearth so close to Remnant’s core— _that_ would turn Lamia into a living apocalypse.

Well, more so than she already was, Glynda’s mind helpfully provided.

It was the opposite of what they had planned, but Glynda didn’t have a choice. Lamia would be at her most powerful, but Glynda didn’t have a choice.

There were no choices, only the path forward. If she didn’t walk it, Lamia would come to her and have her. If she did, Lamia would simply have her. The only difference was Cinder: would she survive if Glynda tried to run? If she turned away from the heat of this place?

Glynda didn’t think so. So she walked.

After tirelessly descending for what felt like ages, Glynda was sweating from the temperature change, heat rising like a sickness in her. She couldn’t see anything. It was too dark, completely pitch, and there was no hope of her eyes adjusting enough to see—but when she put her hand on Cinder’s cheek she felt something there.

Something deep in Cinder: a spark of Aura, like a seed planted in deepest soil, promising new growth.

The heat. The heat was feeding her like it fed her mother. Glynda marched on, determined to get Cinder as close to the boiler itself as she could. She didn’t know how deep she was, how far above her the moon was, how many miles and tons of earth separated her from the cold night air. She didn’t know. Had no way to know.

But Cinder was warming with every step. So she walked.

She kept her hand on Cinder’s face as she went. She could feel Cinder’s Aura unfurling like leaves towards a new sun, absorbing the heat from Remnant’s distant core. It was comforting. Slow, but comforting all the same.

Down, down, down, down.

Cinder’s Aura was a fragile sapling, feeding her body everything it could. In the darkness, Glynda felt as though her other senses had been sharpened for war. She heard every weak breath through Cinder’s lips as though it was a gust of wind, every footfall like thunder against the floor. The snow had melted from her clothes and now her pants clung to her calves, a feeling that amplified until it was something like a creature pressed up against her. Acutely, she recognized the smell of fire.

It seemed to last forever. Blind, losing time, with only Cinder’s Aura on her mind, Glynda walked endlessly onward. The constant sloping and spiraling left her confused, unable to pinpoint where she was in relation to the surface, but she knew she must be deep in the earth somewhere.

Finally, Glynda saw light ahead. She strained her eyes to see more, but the path ahead curved too much to see the end. The heat was becoming unbearable. She stopped and unzipped her jacket, carefully maneuvering around Cinder’s body.

Light. There was _light_. She could reach light and finally see. Glynda shut out the thoughts of Lamia, the massive presence so close she could feel it crawling over her like knives. Light meant she could check on Cinder properly.

She stumbled forwards, keenly aware of the despair eating at her mind, but refused to let it seize her. Just a little further. There was light ahead.

Bit by bit, the cavern around her brightened, in increments so slight she would have missed them if she hadn't spent the journey down so desperate for light. The stone walls themselves glowed with an unnatural, orange hue. They must have been close to the magma for the heat to produce light even through the layers of rock. They must have been close to the source.

Fear of what lay ahead didn’t deter her anymore.

Glynda looked down. She could make out the outline of Cinder’s features. Cinder’s eyes were closed, and her face was smooth—peaceful, even. She was breathing, but otherwise completely still.

Glynda looked up. The path straightened out at last, a final stretch to the end. No more than one hundred feet ahead, she saw a bright arch. Light spilled through it and finally let her eyes rest from the strain. She knew what it meant. Could feel it.

An entrance to the final cavern, where the dragon lay in wait.

She stopped where she was and dropped to her knees. This would have to be close enough. She didn’t want to risk putting Cinder any closer to the inevitable battle.

As gently as she could, she laid Cinder down, leaning against the wall in a half-sitting position. In the light of the cavern’s heart, Cinder’s skin looked flushed red, nowhere near the horrid blue shade Glynda had observed outside.

Cinder was unconscious, but her color seemed healthier, her breathing stronger. Glynda reached out, caressing her cheek with one slightly trembling hand.

She would live, Glynda reasoned, as long as Lamia didn’t finish her off.

Would her mother kill her? After the attack on the airship, Glynda didn’t know. She had to hope not. She had to hope Cinder would survive. Couldn’t bear even the idea of her death.

Glynda pulled off her snow coat now that she had the chance. Dropped her gloves and scarf and every other unnecessary piece of clothing. She shook out her cape and rolled up the sleeves on her thin white shirt. It was still too hot.

From the pocket of her discarded coat, Glynda drew Winter’s Scroll and carefully placed it atop the neat pile of garments near Cinder. The bag was left nearby as well; it contained little of use now. She didn’t know if any of it would help, but she hoped that maybe Winter would pull through and be able to rescue Cinder.

Glynda turned towards the arch.

She wished she had a weapon. Anything would be nice. Then again, she’d broken everything she’d ever pitted against Lamia. Her crop. Her knife. What would be next?

Lamia’s presence was a thousand daggers upon her back.

The dragon had waited thus far for Glynda to come, but Glynda knew she wouldn’t wait for long if she felt her prey loitering right out of reach. There was going to be a battle. Glynda couldn’t let herself be trapped in the machine. The survival of all humanity, of all the world, depended on it.

Glynda considered her options. They were very few.

There was absolutely no way to retreat and recuperate. Out in the cold, Cinder would die, and she was soon to follow—assuming Lamia didn’t sense Glynda’s change of heart and pick her off before the cold could kill her. Even if Glynda tried to walk away now, Lamia would give chase.

Two paths: attempt to avoid a fight and let Lamia hunt and trap her, or walk into the fight and… _And what?_

She couldn’t defeat Lamia. Not on her own.

Cinder had promised to keep her safe, but she was in no condition to make good on that vow. Besides, Glynda couldn’t see Lamia abandoning her hunt. She thought even Cinder knew that, her shaky promises full of uncertainty and doubt.

Beneath one finger of Cinder’s glove, the slight bulge of a ring showed, and Glynda’s mind flickered through new scenarios. Could they defeat her together? Maybe. Maybe not. Would Cinder even fight? She wanted to protect Glynda, but did that mean at the cost of her mother’s life? Probably not. After all, Cinder had said she’d never forgive Glynda if she killed Lamia.

Anyway, she wasn’t in any physical state to fight. That narrowed Glynda’s options significantly, and hinged her chances on dangerous _if_ s.

 _If_ she survived until Cinder recovered. _If_ Cinder would fight with her. _If_ they could win. _If_ Cinder would let them. _If_ Lamia didn’t take that as a final, wretched betrayal and kill them both.

Glynda’s stomach turned. If she waited for Cinder, Cinder could die with her.

If she didn’t, she could die alone.

Easily, her trained mind chased down every path of possibility, honed through decades of battle training to immediately pinpoint the viable options. Factoring in chance and odds, she saw two bleak answers.

Die praying for the impossible chance that Cinder might save her. Or just die.

Looking down at Cinder, she knew which one was best. Which one involved the least amount of danger for anyone else.

Glynda had never been one for sentimentality, but in this moment, she found herself wishing she had kept a journal, or even just a notepad in her pocket. Some tangible, physical record where she could write down… What, exactly?

Some message to the few people she considered friends? To Ozpin? To Winter, if she still lived? What would she say? There wasn’t anything she could possibly send them now. A warning for future hunters? It wouldn't do any good, not now, on the threshold of Armageddon.

A will?

Glynda picked up Winter’s Scroll. It wasn’t like she had any notable possessions to give.

The Scroll lit up like an old friend, and she was hit with the unexpected urge to call Ozpin. It wouldn’t have been able to connect. This was for military use only, and they were far outside the range of any regular signal. But she wished she could hear his voice. She wasn’t good at goodbyes, but she thought he deserved one. Maybe it would have helped.

Glynda looked down at Cinder. More than anything, she wished Cinder was awake right now. Her chest constricted with yearning, her eyes watering suddenly. Wiping them, she turned away. She wanted Cinder to be with her so badly it hurt. To give her strength. Selfish as it might be, Glynda didn't want to face Lamia alone.

But Cinder was still completely unresponsive, her Aura still recovering.

The Scroll was cold in Glynda’s hand. It wasn’t a will or a diary, but there was one thing she should probably say.

Glynda considered her words for a long time before tapping out a brief message on the Scroll’s notepad app. She wasn’t entirely satisfied with it, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. As Cinder had so often reminded her, she'd never been good with words.

She left it open on top of her folded coat, the cold blue light contrasting with the warm glow of the archway.

With that done, she leaned back on her heels, looking at Cinder again. She was completely unaware of what was happening around her. It had been a while since she had seemed so calm and relaxed. Glynda looked at her, burning each feature of her face into her memory. As if they weren’t already there.

She closed her eyes for a long time, isolating the memory of Cinder’s face, forgetting the sight of everything else in the final moments before she confronted Lamia. The dragon had been uncharacteristically patient so far, but Glynda didn’t want to push it, not with Cinder out here.

Eventually, Lamia would come for Glynda. Would come to kill her or put her in the machine.

Glynda just didn’t want Cinder to get caught up in it.

The cold emptiness she called home washed over her for the final time, her Aura fizzling with life, feeding itself and growing big inside her. Her soul swelled again now that it wasn’t being constantly used. It was an endlessly refilling basin, and one by one, her emotions melted away. She felt her Aura eating at itself, growing in size each time, a self-fueling machine as it was meant to be.

She wasn’t at full power, but she wasn’t walking in with nothing either. Glynda wasn’t one to go into a fight with her hands above her head, never clad in white to surrender.

Glynda Goodwitch would go out fighting. She wouldn’t give Lamia the victory she wanted.

If Cinder felt the pressure of the Witch soul against her own, she didn’t show it, resting as motionless as ever against the wall. Glynda felt herself smile, but it didn’t quite connect to her brain.

Everything seemed crystal clear now. Centuries of battle and death had prepared her soul for this.

Even if it was all over, she wasn’t afraid.

Glynda locked her eyes on the end of the path and walked, leaving Cinder behind one final time.

The cavern that lay beyond the archway was huge, impressive enough to house hundreds of lesser Grimm. Perhaps it had once been a repository for magma which had since drained deeper into the mountain, or perhaps Lamia had simply dug it out, the ceilings high enough to house even her dragon form.

The room was lit with an orange glow that seemed to seep out of the walls and cracks in the floor. The choking warmth was like the inside of a brazier, heated air stinging against bare skin, and it was difficult to even draw a full breath.

White bones covered the floor—some were large animal skeletons, some were distinctly human remains, and some were as small as snow hares. No animal adapted to Atlas’ wasteland would wander down to a boiling cavern of its own accord. These were the remains of a hunter’s work.

In the center of the room, a massive metal shape rose up from a tangle wires and Dust. Glynda couldn’t make sense of most of the technology, its complexity far beyond her, but she knew instinctively what it was. It had a relatively flat surface, about the size of a cramped bed and covered in needle-thin spikes, surrounded by curving metal spines like ribs. An alarming amount of Dust was connected to the ribs.

The cage was open and ready.

Lamia had been courteous enough to wait. She knew the game was over. She knew there was no scheme Glynda could possibly pull off to defeat her. She had lost nothing by letting Glynda take her time.

She was in her human form, but crouched like an animal, pressed against the side of the machine. She didn’t move, but her eyes followed Glynda, unblinking.

Even as Glynda advanced into the massive chasm, Lamia didn’t move. Even as the victor, she stayed watchful, eyes flickering from Glynda only to observe the empty archway behind her. Glynda stopped some distance from her, and Lamia’s golden eyes flickered back to her.

 **"Cinder has left you."** Lamia smiled, and Glynda felt it like a kick in the gut. No one had come with Glynda. The Witch was finally alone. **"You cannot sway her. She's seen your sin."**

For every ounce of relief that filled Lamia, Glynda was reminded of how much she wished Cinder was with her. A united front. Alone, Glynda felt like a lamb walking into the jaws of a lion. But the Void was there. She buried herself deep within it to drown out the fear and longing. 

It was better this way. Lamia thought Cinder had left her to die. She wouldn't see Cinder as a traitor. 

**"She will celebrate your end. Cinder could never weep for you."**

Convinced, Lamia rose to her full height, but still didn’t move. The tension bled from her body, a careless ease affecting every muscle. Now she looked ready. Her hand dropped to touch the curve of one of the spines on the machine. Pride.

The replica of the Hill of Roses machine was her masterpiece. She didn’t mind letting Glynda stare at it. She had won, after all. How delightfully easy: prey walking straight into her clutches.

It wasn’t a good sign. She looked focused. Maybe coming after the machine had done that. Putting her on the defense had done that. There was a steady wrath to her now, like a smoldering flame which ate and ate and ate, never satisfied. It was a very bad sign.

Lamia couldn’t have her, couldn’t have the fuel for her project. Glynda couldn’t let her take her alive.

A part of Glynda clung to hope, clung to the idea of stalling for time. To evading Lamia’s clutches until help arrived, until Cinder awoke. The rest of her knew that she needed rage. She needed fire and brimstone. She needed Lamia to lose her head and kill her.

It was preferable to the only alternative.

A calm Lamia would put her in the machine. Glynda needed to hurt her. Needed to agitate her. A prophylaxis game—she needed to stay alive just long enough to make sure Lamia would finish the job. That she would kill her.

Then she could die.

A part of her was relieved that it was so easy. _Choose death,_ it said. _Choose it as if you have a choice._

Glynda felt herself smile back at Lamia. The dragon trusted her to be a Witch, to act as a hunter, to be unbreakable in spirit and strength until something else broke her. She couldn’t possibly have predicted a Witch that wasn’t playing to win. Lamia was clever, but she would assume the two of them were playing the same game. That was a mistake.

In a way, Glynda would win, she supposed. In the long run. But that was a victory of a different game.

This one, the high-stakes game Lamia thought they were playing, was already over. Glynda shifted her weight, and Lamia’s eyes narrowed.

She spun her ring, once, twice, drawing some measure of restlessness out of her body. Empty hands. Fighting with her bare soul as her weapon. All she had was her Semblance, and it would have been too kind of Lamia to give her anything more than a mountain of old, brittle bones to work with. Her Dust-charged ring felt tight around her finger.

Perhaps she should have left that with Cinder too, just in case.

Glynda shot forwards, towards the center of the room, sweeping an arch with her hands that compelled a storm of bones to rise around her. The ones with sharp splintered-off ends rotated to point forwards, taking aim like flying blades.

Even in her human guise, Lamia was fast. All coiled muscle and hair-trigger force, she easily reacted in time to leap aside—but the volley of bones had never been for her. Weakened with age, they splintered against the machine, superficial scratches and a handful of bent pins the only proof they’d connected at all.

Lamia heard the scrape of bone against metal and snarled. Before Glynda could compel another swarm into the air, Lamia pounced towards her, intercepting her stride with one powerful strike. She lashed out with an open hand, claws poised like a big cat swiping at a challenger, and Glynda brought both arms up to defend her head, knowing it was futile in the face of Lamia’s immense strength.

But instead of breaking bones and concussive force, Glynda felt steel encase her forearm as Lamia yanked her effortlessly from the ground and slammed her into hard stone. The floor fractured beneath Glynda, but her Aura absorbed the worst of the impact.

Lamia dropped a hard knee onto Glynda’s solar plexus, robbing her of breath and bruising all her ribs even through a protective layer of Aura. All the weight of her pinned Glynda to the floor, a slow hand closing around her throat while Glynda blinked away stars.

Gold burned down into her like hot magma, like the sun, like the eyes of Death itself.

 **“Pay for your sins,”** Lamia said, not even a trace of a hitch in her breath. She didn’t seem at all affected by the bout. Steady wrath. Deathly focus. Clarity. A very, very bad sign. **“They spill from you in an endless river. Stem the flow. Pay for what you’ve done.”**

The grip around her neck was gentler than Glynda would have thought possible of Lamia. She was being careful. She knew she needed her alive. With a raking of phantom pain across her back, Glynda could feel the pins of the machine biting into her already.

Glynda beat her fist against Lamia’s side, trying desperately the free the other from Lamia’s incredible grip. “I—won’t!”

Lamia’s red lips thinned. Her fingers flexed around Glynda’s throat. **“You deserve it. For what you did.”**

She needed the dragon. She needed rage. Glynda reached for anything she could use, and a femur bone from some ancient mammoth rose to her call. It smashed against the back of Lamia’s head, breaking into a hundred fragments against her skull and horns, and the only reaction was a slow blink. Lamia watched her struggle with cool interest, like observing an insect trapped under a glass, and her voice was sharp metal wrapped in heavy velvet.

 **“You are so weak.”** Subdued anger. Subdued. It wasn’t enough. Glynda needed more.

Glynda strained for anything to say, anything to feed the flames. “I won’t be another Bacia!”

Narrowed eyes tinged with remembrance. “ **No, you won’t. Bacia was stronger than you**.”

“I’m not letting you win,” Glynda gasped, an empty lie.

“ **You always do.** ”

“I won’t. I’m not your Ilkay.”

A flash of pain. The blackened hand at her throat shifted as Lamia did, squeezing tighter. Hefting herself up, she dragged Glynda with her, a smoldering of intense heat dancing across her skin. Like a noose pulled taut, Lamia crushed Glynda’s airway, and Glynda could only struggle and kick, her legs dragging against the stone as Lamia took slow strides toward the machine.

 **“A new face. A new life. You die, but I continue. I remember what you did. Their sins are yours.”** It was the final readings of an executioner. These were her sins. These were her rites. **“You did this. You made it** **_hurt._ ** **You** **_relished_ ** **in making it hurt. You made us this way, and then you tore us apart.”**

Glynda’s vision was beginning to fade at the edges, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She scratched useless lines into the scale-like flesh of Lamia’s hand. Lamia’s grip was a leash, and there was no hope of escape. She pulled Glynda toward the machine.

**“This will be your atonement. This will be the only good you ever do. Long after you have died, your soul will still fuel this machine.”**

With a swift movement, Glynda’s back slammed against hard metal. Smooth, not jagged. The side of the machine. Not in it yet. Her vision was narrowing to small, wavering points.

All she saw was Lamia. There was a glow of excitement in her eyes. A hunter’s exultation. An animal exhilaration. The absolute confidence of the apex predator. Wrath, steady but growing, a flame fed and fighting to rise. She smiled, as if comforting Glynda:

**“Now neither of us will be alone.”**

There were no bones here, and in her final, desperate throes, Glynda grasped for anything she could. Her Semblance reached wildly, for something, _anything_ she could use. She felt something on the machine give, and as darkness covered her vision, she flung it blindly forward.

Lamia’s scream tore through the watery haze, and Glynda collapsed to the ground in a heap, her limbs all heavy. The weight on her windpipe was gone, and she drew a sharp, gasping breath. Another wretched scream, this one full of fury and pain, but Glynda still felt underwater, with only vague shapes moving before her eyes. Her head was pounding.  

Trembling, Glynda coughed and hacked, her lungs burning with acrid air, but she blinked hard and focused. The floor. She saw the floor. Her own limp hand upon it. And beyond that, Lamia, writhing and grasping at her face, black blood spilling through her fingers.

Her mind was blank. She watched like it was a movie. It was the first time she’d seen Lamia in pain.

Maybe this would be enough.

Glynda pushed herself up onto her elbows weakly as Lamia thrashed, her body bent. Her face. Glynda had hit her face. Maybe her eyes. With what?

She reached for the only thing around to help her to her feet: the machine. Clawing her way up it, she leaned against the side as she struggled to her feet, but just touching it made her feel sick. She glanced over at it. Up close, the bed of nails seemed almost too vicious to be true. Through her trained void, she felt a phantom pain all down her back, the feeling of thousands of needle-like points sinking into her flesh.

To wet the machine with her blood. To keep her Aura raging, constantly on the mend, constantly refilling itself, constant fuel. Eternal torture.

Through the coldness of her Witch nature, Glynda felt a stab of raw panic. She pulled away from the frame as if it had burned her, but not before she noticed that there were a handful of pins missing.

Lamia roared, but when Glynda looked her way, it was only to find her stiller than before. Hunched over, she pulled the pins from her face, black ichor coating them. Rage seared across her expression as she tossed them aside and snapped her attention toward Glynda, one eye shut and oozing black. A half dozen points marred her face like a constellation.

But she still didn’t transform. There was no immolation, no inferno.

It wasn’t enough. Lamia was too close to her goal. Even with one eye, she could see Glynda and the machine together. She could see past the pain.

Glynda swallowed past the throbbing ring of dark bruises around her throat. Her Aura was straining to multiply, to give her the strength to fight back. It wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough. Lamia wouldn’t hesitate this time.

Lamia staggered to her feet. Despair rose and was swallowed by the void inside Glynda.

There were no moves left to her. There was only the machine.

A flash of intense heat heralded the strike the sent her flying across the chasm, crashing amongst a collection of bones. She blinked back stars, sucking in a surprised breath. Rolling onto her side, she could see Lamia in a blaze of anger. Her one eye glowered with barely restrained wrath.

It wasn’t hope that filled Glynda’s breast. It was possibility.

Mechanically, she rose to her feet, watching Lamia snap her teeth together at the sight. Perhaps she had been wrong before. Perhaps Lamia couldn’t see past the pain with absolute clarity.

Exploding towards her, Lamia pummeled Glynda into the ground and followed up immediately with a vicious kick that sent her flying into the far end of the chamber. Glynda felt the impact against the stone wall reverberate through her Aura. This was what she wanted. This was the beast that would kill her. She just needed another push.

 **“Witch!”** Lamia spat, closing the distance again. Up close, her wound was sickening. Black blood globbed over her eye. **“Vile creature!”**

Glynda barely resisted as Lamia slammed her into the wall, dragging her across the face of it with cruel claws. She needed more. She needed crushing force. She needed Lamia to break her open and tear out the insides.

With impossible clarity, Glynda’s mind provided the final piece.

The machine would never hold her. Lamia would never have her. One prophylactic sacrifice would be enough to protect humanity’s—and the world’s—future.

The thought brought her new courage.

Discarded bones crunched beneath Lamia’s tread as she slammed Glynda face-first into the ground. Her cheek pressed into the hard stone, a nearby fissure hissing heat. Glynda smiled, not from pleasure but from knowing this would be it. It would be over after this.

“You’re one to _talk,”_ Glynda said, rasping from the rawness of her throat. She hacked, turning her head to stare at the shadow of Lamia over her shoulder. “After what you did to your own daughter—”

“ **Cinder,** ” Lamia repeated, her remaining eye widening with sudden fear. The hand crushing down against Glynda’s back dug its claws in, and Glynda’s Aura rippled to try to keep out the dagger-like nails. “ **Where is my daughter? What have you done with Cinder?** ”

With the void clutched tightly around her heart, the words came easily to Glynda, a verbal ruthlessness she had never wielded in the past. An unspeakable clarity guided her sentences, identical to the coldness which guided her knife to weak spots.

“I didn’t do anything to her,” Glynda said, and her voice lacked all inflection, emotion completely drained. “You knew she was on board the ship you brought down. Did you really think she could survive the cold and get this far?”

Glynda even felt a physical tremble run through the hand that held her in place.

 **“You’re lying,”** Lamia hissed, low and vulnerable. **“Cinder saw you for what you are. Cinder abandoned you. She didn’t come. She wouldn’t.”**

“I couldn’t save her.” Even though she was so close by, Lamia couldn’t feel Cinder at all. She didn’t know—couldn’t know—that Glynda was lying. She wouldn't know until it was too late. “She’s dead.”

There was a pause as Lamia took in what she had said, eye filling with tears.

 **“No. No, you are lying. She isn’t…”** The hand over Glynda’s spine pulled back, Lamia holding her own head and shaking. Her massive body trembled like a leaf in the wind. Tears rolled down her cheek now, free as a gushing river, and even her bad eye seemed to water, the tears and blood mingling. **“Cinder is alive! You’re LYING!”**

Lamia’s roar had become a scream, mixed grief and rage, a poison Glynda recognized from Corinth.

Good. _That_ was the state she needed Lamia to be in.

Glynda rolled over, swinging her arms and pummeling Lamia with a wave of bones. Her head cracked to the side, but the bones did as much as before, shattering against Lamia’s solid body.

As Glynda jumped to her feet, Lamia quaked. Her head turned slowly back, golden eye aflame with fury. Red lips pulled back to reveal jagged teeth, each clearly meant for tearing meat. They were a predator’s teeth, meant to pull apart prey.

And Glynda was the prey.

She leapt away from Lamia’s clawed strike. She needed the dragon. Needed a quick death. If Lamia wanted to kill her, she would have to change. She would have to catch her.

The heat of Remnant’s heart filled Lamia to the brim with power, and the bursts of fire she now sent across the room were each a massive storm. Glynda ran, rebuffing the intense flames with her Aura or zipping out of the way before they could scorch her. When she wasn’t quick enough, her Aura groaned to compensate, but it didn’t matter anymore. Each time she evaded, Lamia’s screams turned further from sorrow to wrath. Soon, Lamia would change.

A blow she couldn’t avoid sent her wheeling across the room, but she managed to tumble and catch herself on her knees, darting off again before Lamia could crush her with an overhead strike, her huge hands laced together to form a maul.

As she danced away from Lamia, Glynda found herself fighting her own Aura. It was too big. Her mind knew what to do, but her body didn’t want to die, didn’t want to lower its natural defenses. She leapt and dodged, fire always licking at her back, but her main enemy was her own soul. Her mind was made up, but her quarrelsome soul refused.

 _Die_ , she commanded herself, knowing that her Aura would try to keep her alive even after Lamia transformed. She had to be ready to die immediately. Prolonging it would only hurt. Her only wish was for it not to hurt.  _Lower your shields and die._

Glynda's very nature fought against what she had to do, but separating herself from her instincts had always been what made her more human than void.

Another earth-shattering blow broke something in her, but it was only a rib or three. Not enough.

Bit by bit, her shields were already coming down. The wall smacked into her with a devastating crack and she tasted blood. Bit her tongue, maybe. She dared not hope for serious internal injury. Her Aura was too stubborn. She fell, the floor rushing up to meet her, and she found herself unable to rise quick enough. In the battle against her own body, she was winning.

Trying to stop her Aura from rushing forth to heal the damage was like trying to swallow an ocean, but she held it back with every inch of her willpower, containing the healing force within her soul.

Looking up, Glynda could see Lamia closing in, the machine at her back, forgotten. Her expression was equally agonized and furious, her tears endless. Fire licked at her arms, promising the dragon soon. Glynda smiled.

It was all as Glynda had planned it. She could feel Death again, circling her like a waiting vulture.

 _Come get me,_ she thought. _I dare you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully our next update will be quicker than this last one, but i hope you guys liked it anyway :9


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update this time fam!!! don't forget to keep reading ;)))

The smell of fire was strong, but comforting. There was a warmth all around her, an embrace of safety to coax her out of the fog. Part of her was reluctant to wake, as if acknowledging her consciousness would break the spell and turn her cold again.

Cinder’s eyelids fluttered. The heavy weight upon her chest, that constricting bind of frost, was gone. She felt stronger than before. The haze was clearing. Fire coursed through her veins. There was no pain. Not anymore.

Was she dead?

It was almost comedic how quickly the thought curled through her head, and she brushed it aside. Ridiculous. She could still feel exhaustion deep in her bones, tethering her to life. Cinder forced her eyes to open, feeling like she was coming out of a deep hibernation.

It took some time before her brain connected itself to reality enough to parse the information coming through her senses. She was out of the snow. She recognized this place. Cinder heard sounds. Footsteps, explosions, and that too-familiar warcry.

It jolted her, adrenaline spiking through her body.  _ Mother. _

Cinder’s arms were trapped inside layers of clothing and she swore, forcing her reluctant body to cooperate. Her joints were stiff from inactivity, still haunted by the weakness the cold had brought. Only her mind was sharp enough to recognize the danger. Only her mind responded. She fought her way out of the restricting garments, struggling when she found her fine motor control all but completely gone.

Glynda. Mother. A battle. She had to intervene again. Mother would capture the Witch soul at last. Or she would kill Glynda. 

Cinder heard the scream again, and ice cold fear lanced through her newly warmed body.

It was all she could do to rip out of the restricting clothing, clumsily shedding layer upon layer until her arms were free, red sigils flaring upon her flesh. Clothed in just the sleeveless top she’d started with, she felt lighter. Even so, it wasn’t quite enough. Her legs only answered with weak, meaningless twitches, as if half of her body was still asleep. The unpleasant sensation of pins and needles rushing through her muscles was the only indication her legs were still attached at all.

She crumpled forward, her jade pendant swinging from her neck as she crashed onto her elbows. Circulation was returning, bit by bit, as Cinder grit her teeth and made fists. The horrible tingling intensified with every move. She had to wake her legs up. Had to get her blood flowing. She couldn’t walk like this.

Cinder struggled against helplessness, feeling the quakes of the battle in the floor beneath her trembling body. It felt like every limb was still frosted with ice, stiff and unusable. A ridiculous thought flashed in her mind: perhaps it was the grip of rigor mortis, Death so keen to take her it had dug its claws in before she’d even gone.

A shine of blue light caught her attention as she fought to rise. Winter’s Scroll, pulsing softly, had been left alone long enough to enter a cycle of battery-saving dimming.

She lifted it up and the Scroll brightened in response, waking up from stasis just as she had. It took her bleary eyes a moment to focus upon the screen, but once they did, she almost wished she hadn’t looked at all.

It was a short message, completely typical of Glynda—simple words with honest truth laced in every letter. She could almost hear the message in Glynda’s voice.

_ I love you. Sorry. _

Her hands trembled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cinder demanded of the Scroll, but there was nothing else to the message. “Sorry for  _ what?!” _

She knew Glynda well enough to follow her logic.  _ Sorry, I failed. Sorry I couldn’t stay. Sorry for loving you. Sorry. Goodbye. _

Cinder snapped the Scroll shut, gritting her teeth against the swell of emotions in her chest. She swore and tossed the Scroll back onto Glynda’s discarded coat, as if putting distance between herself and the message would erase Glynda’s intentions from her mind.

That idiot. Stupid Witch. She was going to get herself killed!

Forcing her body to move, Cinder crawled towards the sound of shattering stone and hissing flames, pulling herself along on her hands and knees. No time to wait. No time to recover. She didn’t know how long she had been out, but any second could be the last.

Bit by bit, she coaxed her body into motion. As circulation returned to her legs, so did feeling and muscle control. Cinder tried to rise and couldn’t make it all the way to her feet. She reached for the wall, drinking in the heat which emanated from it and trying to convert it into strength. 

Digging her fingers into the grooves of the cavern wall and pulling with all her might, she finally staggered to her feet. 

Every step threatened to send her crashing back down, but she kept her eyes locked onto the archway, clinging to the wall and forcing herself closer. It had gotten quieter. Now she couldn’t hear anything at all save her own thundering pulse and labored breathing. 

The archway opened before her, the boiling core of Remnant itself prickling her skin with sweat. Bathed in warm orange light, two figures danced across the cavern. Her heart jumped into her throat, fear closing around it like a vice. 

Heavy impact. The sound of an enormous tree being felled. The smaller of the two shapes was thrown across the room. Cinder watched Glynda smash into the wall, collapse in a heap, and fail to rise. Her mother didn’t even give her a moment’s respite, murderous intent lining her rapid approach. 

Flames swirled from her mother’s arms. She was going to change, she was going to finish this—

Cinder lurched forward, but her legs were too weak to withstand a sprint. Her knees smacked the ground painfully, sending out new shocks of sensation to her useless body, and desperate, Cinder rasped out:

“Mother!”

The shout that ripped itself from her broken throat was hoarse, but the world seemed to yield to just her voice. Time stood still as Lamia froze mid-step, the flames dying before they could burn away her human form. 

Slowly, Lamia turned, and Cinder saw that her darkened expressed was not wholly a trick of the light—black blood.  _ Her _ blood. Cinder’s stomach flipped as she saw how the left side of her mother’s face was coated in it. 

If her mother looked like that then—

_ Glynda. _

Still unmoving and crumpled against the floor, she stared at Cinder mutely from behind Lamia. Deep contusions around her neck. Blood, but not nearly as much as last time. But she still hadn’t stood up. Just how many bruised and cracked bones was Cinder not seeing? As if to ask, Cinder locked eyes with her, trying to figure out just what state she was in and finding only—

Glynda’s eyes were glazed with acute resignation. Like somehow Cinder had ruined what was to be her perfect victory. 

_ Sorry, _ she’d said. Cinder could have throttled her herself.

Lamia’s strangled cry was the only warning before she leapt to Cinder’s side, clearing the thirty feet between them in seconds. Crashing down before Cinder, her knees scraped against the hard stone. Her huge hands shook as she took Cinder’s face in them, tilting it back to meet her eyes. 

_ Eye.  _

If it had been gruesome from afar, the globs of sticky blood covering obvious puncture marks on and around her eye made Cinder’s skin crawl. Her mother’s hands were warm, but her face was a mess of blood and tears. 

**“Cinder! You’re alive! I knew, I knew—”** Lamia clouded her vision. She looked as though she were about to bend to press her forehead to Cinder’s when she stopped.  **“Your face—Daughter, what has happened?”**

Her thumb traced along the new scarring which ran across Cinder’s face from jaw to ear, but Cinder tore her face away. Despite the concern which radiated from Lamia in waves, Cinder felt her guts knot. Her voice was small: “You did that. When you made us crash.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but when they did, Lamia flinched as though she’d been struck and averted her gaze.

Cinder tried again to pull herself up, to at least rise to her knees. Here, in the very heart of the mountain, she could feel the heat coursing through her veins like blood. It was almost too much, like she might just suffocate in it. It must have been agonizing for Glynda. 

**“The Witch… Daughter, I never meant for you to be hurt.”** Massive shoulders hunched, and Lamia bowed her head somewhat, grimacing. She reached for Cinder again, as though her touch could undo the jagged line carved across her face.

Cinder managed to catch her by the wrist before she could, finally fixing on her mother. It took a long moment to find her voice, but when she did, she told her, “Mother, this has to stop.”

This was it. A final appeal. The only chance for them to end this without blood. Cinder swallowed down a lump in her throat, trying to find the strength to speak. 

For the briefest moment, she looked past Lamia, meeting Glynda’s eyes again. They were empty, but Glynda was watching the scene unfold, her Aura rippling strangely as she finally rose to her feet. There was no encouragement to be gleaned from that hollow expression, but determination filled Cinder’s heart anyway. 

To prove her wrong. To offer Glynda a way out. To give them all an escape.

She wouldn’t let them die here.

Lamia gaped, but there was no confusion there, only open desperation. She had to know what this meant, even if she didn’t want to admit it.  **“You don’t know what she’s done, Cinder.”**

“I know what they did to you, Mother.” How could she make her understand? Cinder had seen it. Lived it. In the mausoleum of Mountain Glenn, she had experienced that rending moment of coming into being. It had been like two stars colliding in a supernova, all hurt and heat and hate. “I know how much it hurt. I know it must still hurt!”

Had it been anyone but her mother, anyone without the drive to live imbued in their very blood, it would have been too much. Death would have been kinder, but that drive to live existed in every Grimm, driving them forward even when every step was agony. 

Cinder drew a taut breath, squeezing her mother’s wrist. “But you can’t have her. You can’t have Glynda.”

Instead of surprise, Lamia’s expression only faltered into deeper despair.  **“The Witch is here, Cinder. We** **_have_ ** **her. Our kind, our family—without this, we will suffer without end.**

Every inch of her wanted to hide, shame rising in the back of her throat like bile. “I know.”

Red claws which could carve through steel brushed across Cinder’s cheek, gentle and pleading. “ **The humans have already taken Hati from me… I cannot lose this. I cannot be alone.”**

It cut deep. To deny her mother and her family salvation was a wretched agony, but it was one she chose. With her free hand, Cinder cradled the jade pendant hanging from her neck. “I’m sorry, Mother. I can’t pay what it takes.”

Lamia watched Cinder’s fingers close around the necklace. It was her first time seeing the Witch’s token, and her good eye widened, her jaw going slack. It was undeniable proof, the kind which couldn’t be owed to misunderstood words. 

Like it burned just to behold the truth, Lamia recoiled, looking anywhere but there.  **“Cinder—”**

Cinder tugged her mother’s wrist, trying to force her to see. “ _ We _ came here to stop you. Together.”

Through hell. Through every brush with death. They’d come together.

Horror dawned on Lamia’s face, like a drowning person realizing their only lifeline was unraveling. Lamia leaned back as far as she could, avoiding eye contact. Tilting her head away completely, there was no telling if she’d meant to look towards Glynda or if it had been a product of her unwillingness to face this truth, but Cinder followed her gaze. 

The first crack of emotion showed on Glynda face. Exhaustion, first and foremost. And hope. Unmistakable hope. She had come here to die, but Cinder was offering more. 

Their eyes met, and a slow smile spread across Glynda’s face.

There were no words adequate for the emotion which burned through Cinder’s chest at the sight. The heat was revitalizing her Aura with every passing second, but Glynda’s smile filled Cinder with precious resolve. 

Lamia must have seen it on her face when she turned back. Despite the complexities of the emotions she considered, Lamia’s conclusion was simple:  **“You care for her.”**

Though her response was for her mother, Cinder’s eyes never left Glynda. “I love her.”

There was a long moment when Lamia didn’t speak, didn’t move. A slow understanding bloomed on her face, and Cinder recalled the person her mother had once been. The woman Salem, who had loved a Witch as well. She wondered if this was what her mother was thinking of now, the memories and feelings not hers, but instilled within her even after centuries.

“Please don’t make me choose,” Cinder begged, her grip edging down from Lamia’s wrist so her palm rested upon her mother’s. “Not between you and her.  _ Please.” _

Tears welled in her mother’s eyes, black and sticky from the one which had been taken. Lamia withdrew her hand and inched backward, angling her body away from Cinder.  **“You cannot love her, Daughter. Forget her. Everything can be as we planned it. Everything… Everything will be complete. Forget her, Cinder.** **_Please.”_ **

If Lamia turned away now, Cinder would lose her. Cinder could see it in her face, hear in the hollow tone of her voice, usually so full of emotion. She gave chase, pulling her legs up beneath her and finding new strength in them. “I can’t.”

The moment Cinder tried to set soothing hands upon her again, Lamia was out of her reach, crouched like a cornered animal.

**“You** **_must._ ** **She has always been yours to take, Daughter.”** In her words was a need for Cinder to understand. **“In the year of your birth, I felt her return to this world as well. I knew you would have her. She was meant for you. She is your destiny. And you are our salvation.** **_My salvation.”_ **

“I can’t be what you need me to be,” Cinder said, her heart clenching. “I’m only human—”

**“You have no faults, Cinder. You** **_are_ ** **perfect.”** Lamia’s gaze was intense, sincerity in every word. Like daggers, her love cut Cinder deeper than her claws would ever be capable of. **“Let her go. You toiled all your life for this. We can still win—we can still save our family.”**

It was a promise. Despite every betrayal and flaw, she’d find forgiveness in her mother no matter the severity of her sins. Her mother spoke only in truths, and this was the one Cinder had prayed for her entire life. Her lips trembled, a terrible weakness in her yearning for nothing more than this. It broke her heart that it came now, at the cost of Glynda’s soul. 

“ _ Mother _ ,” she begged, unable to elaborate, to untie her tongue in this final betrayal.

Even more than being hated, the fact that her mother still had faith in her was tearing her apart.

Her mother wasn’t foolish. She couldn’t have missed the way Cinder’s voice cracked, the way her attention flickered—even now—to Glynda, rooted in place at her back. In a blur of movement, she was on her feet, taking another step back. 

But no matter how much distance she put between herself and this truth, Lamia couldn’t escape it.

**“You would leave us to our fates. You would stay my hand. To what end? For what?”**

Cinder swallowed thickly, rising to her feet, steadier than before. “For me. Do it for me.”

Tears spilled down Lamia’s battle-worn cheeks, and she stared at the pendant hanging over Cinder’s sternum.  **“We could be happy. Give her up. Please, Daughter. I need you.”**

Every word a truth. Every truth a knife driven in. Cinder felt flayed alive.

A whisper slithered through her thoughts, slippery as a serpent, every truth venomous. The sheer power afforded to her by the world’s core would have flames licking the inside of Cinder’s skin before Glynda could recover. It would boil her blood. It would radiate through every pore. Hotter than any distant sun, the searing boiler would supply her and her mother an endless basin to draw upon. 

She had defeated Glynda in Vacuo using the desert heat: here, the Witch stood no chance, not against Cinder and not against her mother. The serpent’s influence crept through her mind languidly, coiling around her and squeezing. 

It was hopeless for her to struggle. Coming here, there had never been any chance to beat Lamia. Cinder felt wisps of flame crackling along her fingers. Her mouth was dry. 

Like ripples across her skin, she felt Glynda’s attention on her, watching and waiting. Her earlier smile had vanished, all the emotion in her schooled away. She would chase every possibility, Cinder knew. Her mind would follow the tracks Cinder’s thoughts had taken, would envision the end a swinging allegiance ensured:

The machine. 

The key piece. It filled the room, pervaded every action and word. It was the end that waited for a Witch, the beginning which would herald a new age for Grimm.

Lamia hinged everything upon it.

Cinder let the flames come alive slowly, heat rising in growing licks along her arms, the sigils red hot. Lamia made a clicking sound, and Glynda widened her stance, but Cinder only breathed deep of the burning air and let it nourish the fire within her. Boots scuffing over stone, Cinder drew the inferno forward with a swing of her arm, the room exploding into blinding light as the flare arched across it with impossible speed.

The thunderous explosion rattled even Cinder’s eardrums as the volley connected. Metal warped and burst from the power behind the strike, but the second explosion was bigger, massive vats of Dust erupting with enough force to rattle the entire chamber. Ears ringing, Cinder staggered against the force of the blast, putting her back to it to avoid the shockwave of scorching air. 

Scrap metal ricocheted through the cavern as lethal shrapnel, and Lamia’s head jerked from where she’d flinched away from the intense light. Her mother’s masterpiece, her machine, was torn asunder in an instant, the explosion tearing apart each lovingly crafted inch of torture and leaving behind only the stench of spent Dust.

Lamia stared at the remains of the machine like she couldn’t understand it. Behind her, Glynda’s shoulders slumped with relief.  

Cinder straightened, watching for her mother’s reaction with all the fear of a disobedient child racing through her veins. Her mother had hinged everything upon the machine, but now there was nothing left of it but rubble.

For a long time, she saw only shock, dead silent disbelief. Even Glynda seemed shaken.

The last scraps of melting, mangled metal clattered and lay still.

“If you take her, I won't forgive you,” Cinder promised. Sparks struck between her fingernails, but the treason was already complete, her mother’s victory lying in pieces. There was nothing more Cinder could do to hurt her. “Never.”

It was the same ultimatum she’d given Glynda, and her body burned with the voracity of her determination to see it through.

**“Daughter,”** her mother choked out, turning back her way. As if the strike had been aimed at her instead, she wore the sorrow of a broken heart openly.  **“What have you done to us?”**

“I won’t choose,” Cinder managed, softer than a prayer.

Lamia’s expression pinched, her eye squeezing shut as if to stem the tears. She drew a shuddering breath, all sob, and bowed her head, diminished even if she stood feet taller than Cinder. With a trembling voice, she whispered,  **“You already have.”**

Slow collapse. Her limbs crumpled in, her body sunk down. Weeping, her mother dropped to the ground, dark hair falling over her shoulders to pool like blood around her thighs. The scar left by Bacia stretched as her head fell forward, whole body convulsing as she wept. Not even the wounds left by Glynda compared to what Cinder had done. With a move, she had destroyed what centuries of agony and generations of Witches couldn’t. 

She had destroyed  _ hope. _

The heat in Cinder died, choked by regret and anguish, and she fell before her mother, touching her shoulder, her face. It felt useless, just as when she’d been a child in her mother’s arms, unable to affect the maelstrom which raged within her. 

“Please… There must be something else. I won’t leave you, Mother. There must be something else we can do.” 

Lamia grieved. Even with her daughter right there with her, she was inconsolable. Without Hati, the ages would drag across her flesh like nails, and long after Cinder had passed, she would still draw breath, her misery stretching into centuries.

Cinder had stolen her future away, all with the flick of her wrist. All for the sake of the Witch.

Bowing her head to press her face to her mother’s shoulder, Cinder caught a flicker of movement from behind them and saw Glynda take the first tentative step forward. Even now, her heart clenched with undeniable relief.

“She won’t hurt you,” Cinder vowed, locking eyes with Glynda over her mother’s shoulder. It was as much a promise to her Mother as it was warning to Glynda.  _ “No one _ is going to hurt you, Mother.”

Lamia’s voice quivered even as Cinder cradled her face in both hands.  **“She tortures me even now. I feel her in my chest. I feel every beat of this wretched heart she has given me.”**

Lamia slowly lifted her head to meet Cinder’s uncertain gaze. From beneath the shadow of heavy bangs, Lamia’s good eye showed utter defeat, nothing left to her. 

**“She is here,”** Lamia said, gesturing toward her chest. Her crimson nails bit into her own flesh as if she longed to tear her still-beating heart clean from its cage.  **“No force can expel her. She works her torture into every breath. She is why I will never have peace. She has hurt me for centuries. She lives and dies, but I am given no reprieve. I continue.** **_This_ ** **continues.”**

Cinder stared into her mother’s face, her lips parting in surprise and dreadful realization.

The change had always been imperfect. Cinder had known from the beginning, had said as much to Glynda when she’d been forced to confess it all. Grimm were tortured, and her mother wore her sorrow and misery openly, her elevated state unable to raise her from the mire of a Grimm’s nature. 

She was seeped in it. Drowning in it. A perfect, distorted mirror to Witches, who felt nothing. 

As her daughter, Cinder knew: Lamia blamed Witches for every moment of overwhelming pain and loneliness. But did she also blame them for her very existence? For the unending torture not even Death itself could end?

Did she blame them for her  _ life? _

Wordless and filled with new despair, Cinder searched for some answer in her mother’s expression.

**“She made me this way. She denies me every solace. I have lost my other half. I have lost my only hope.”** Lamia touched Cinder’s cheek mournfully, tears streaking down her own to run over Cinder’s fingers.  **“ And now she has taken my light, and I have** **_nothing.”_ **

Lamia bared her teeth and released a cry of anguish, as if simply saying the words aloud had driven sharp blades through her. The cavern shook with the force of her cry, and Cinder had to cover her ears, wincing against the deafening sound. 

**“It’s too much! She has taken too much!”** Heat radiated from her, a fire raging through her mother’s veins with growing intensity. Cinder watched in horror as the loss in her mother’s eye burned away, a blaze of final, futile retribution consuming it whole.  **“But even if she takes everything else, she cannot have you!”**

Before Cinder could try to soothe or contain her, Lamia shot to her feet.

_ “Glynda!” _

The clash of claws against Aura echoed through the chamber as Lamia flew at Glynda. Cinder was on her feet an instant too late, but Glynda was already honing her Aura into a shield, fleet-footed as she ducked away from the second blow. Fear crystallized in her expression, a pleading look shot Cinder’s way as the third strike ripped her from the ground and sent her into the adjacent wall. 

“Mother!” Cinder cried, what had recovered of her Aura pooling in her legs to push herself between the two of them. “Stop!”

But Lamia had seen the trick too many times before, and with tears in her eye, she blew past her daughter, sights trained on the Witch. Glynda shot towards Cinder only to be caught before she could make it by Lamia’s ungodly reach. Another reverberation rang out through the chamber as Glynda was sent spinning across the stone, body skidding over the ground until she finally caught herself near the destroyed pieces of the machine. 

New wounds bloodied Glynda’s clothes, the cage around her emotions lifted so that Cinder could see just how scared she was.

Cinder couldn’t keep up as Lamia dashed after her, a warcry ripping from her throat. Glynda tried to stagger to her feet, but wobbled, clutching her leg. A break? A fracture? Flames leapt from Cinder’s fingertips, knowing just what would happen if Glynda didn’t rise before Lamia got to her.

Her mother turned as the fire licked at her back, blackened claws splitting the inferno as if it were no more than a breeze. It barely deterred her, but in the brief moment it took for her to cut through them, Glynda managed to climb to her feet and was darting off again. 

They needed to convene, consolidate, set their backs to one another and find a way to slow Lamia down. Cinder sprinted towards Glynda, her heart in her throat, and saw the same magnetism pulling Glynda towards her. But Lamia was faster, coming between them with a snarl as she summoned hellfire to burn Glynda to ash. 

Here, in the belly of the volcano, the flames scorched even stone to pitch black. Cinder cried out, charging past her mother and into the flames, a growl in shape of her name curling from her mother’s lips.

With her recovering Aura threatening to collapse beneath the heat, Cinder followed the echo of Glynda’s soul and found her curled on the floor, the flames sapping away her protective shield. Cinder’s knee hit the ground, and she put herself in front of Glynda, setting one hand on Glynda’s shoulder and stretching out the other arm to part the blaze. 

Like a stone splitting a river around it, Cinder bore the brunt of her mother’s fury, gritting her teeth and reaching deep for the strength to resist. If she buckled here, Glynda would burn, her Aura eaten away until it couldn’t keep her flesh from melting and her bones from becoming charcoal.

And then, as quickly as the flames had been summoned, they evaporated into thin air. Cinder was left breathing hard, bangs sticking to her sweat-covered brow. The blur from the heat faded as she blinked, the dark shape of her mother sharpening into crystal clarity. Every instinct in her screamed to run, to bow to the power such an ancient being possessed. 

Cinder’s hands shook, but she didn’t avert her gaze. She was not going to lose Glynda here.

As if roused by her thoughts, Glynda staggered to her knees. With a cough, she wheezed, “I didn't think you’d come in time.”

Cinder fixed her with a brief look, eyes watering from the smoke curling through the air. There were a million things she wanted to say, but there was only time for her to squeeze Glynda’s shoulder and say: “Just stay behind me.”

In front of them, Lamia stood, her face shadowed, her arms tight at her side, claws twitching. Her mouth was drawn, lips flat. Gold blazed with hatred as she watched Glynda take Cinder’s hand from her shoulder, interlocking their fingers. They rose together, Cinder a step in front of Glynda.

“Please,” Cinder mouthed, holding Glynda’s hand. “Mother, don’t.”

They couldn’t win. Cinder knew that. Even if they’d come at full power and fought to kill, they would never be able to win. Cinder had honed herself for survival, and she knew there was none to be found facing off against Lamia.

Lamia snarled her answer to Cinder’s plea, lunging forward as tongues of fire crackled up each arm.

Dancers moved with less coordination. Cinder took the lead, stripping away the heat from her mother’s claws while Glynda followed in her shadow. When Cinder and her mother collided, the air hissed with blooming and wilting flames, and Glynda slid toward Lamia’s blindside, lowering her shoulder and using her Aura to barrel into Lamia.

It knocked her aside, but not for long. Roaring, Lamia dug her heels in and rebounded in a flurry of hellfire, but Cinder was there, putting herself between them again and again. Glynda moved like water, slipping into every opening Cinder afforded her to push Lamia back, to put more distance between them.

It should have been impossible for Cinder to defend against her mother’s strength, but each time she caught a blow, Cinder felt the restraint in it, Lamia’s eyes fixed only on Glynda. 

Even now, she was only trying to push past Cinder to get to the Witch. Even now, she did not target her daughter.

Glynda yanked a bent sheet of metal from the machine’s remains and wedged it between herself and killer claws when Lamia managed to blitz by Cinder. The metal was shorn into pieces like nothing more than paper, but the precious seconds lost allowed Cinder to reposition, throwing herself between them once more. 

Neither of them were faster than Lamia, but they moved together, reconvening every time Lamia tried to separate them. They played to each other’s strengths and covered each other’s weaknesses. A single misstep would have given Lamia the opening she craved, but Cinder fought her withering Aura, forcing herself to keep up.

“Please!” Cinder screamed, taking advantage of a second’s delay and scrabbling for a grip on her mother’s wrists. She dug deep for whatever dwindling Aura she had to try to hold her there. “I’ll protect you! I’ll save you!”

**“I have bore this life, but she cannot have you!”** Nothing would ever be enough to restrain her mother. Reversing their grips, Lamia seized Cinder by the arms and yanked, tossing her across the chamber.  **“Never you!”**

Cinder tumbled over the stone, her skull cracking against it, vision contracting to points for a moment before she skidded to a halt amongst a pile of bones. Her Aura was barely alive, even in this heat, and she tasted blood, head swimming. Batted aside by her mother’s strength, she fought triple vision as she tried to pull herself from among the broken, ancient bones. Disoriented, she managed to push herself up on her elbows in time to see her mother face down Glynda alone.

Terror lanced through Cinder as ripples of black scales came and went in waves across her mother’s flesh, as if fury itself demanded she transform.

In a flare of heat, the room shrunk from the presence of her mother in her full dragon form, red and black wings spread, claws pulling up rock. The earth around them shook with the force of her scream, and Cinder ignored the piercing pain which split her head as she scrambled to her feet.

“Glynda!” Their eyes met through the trunks of her mother’s legs, Glynda frozen with fear, Cinder wide-eyed with panic. They needed to regroup, a reunited front the only way to protect Glynda from her mother’s fury. “Quickly!”

Staggering into a desperate sprint, Cinder couldn’t take her eyes off Glynda, the way she backed up until she couldn’t anymore. Stone rose at her back, and Mother charged after her, heavy footsteps rattling the ground, her head drawn back for a strike.

Glynda and Cinder’s eyes met, and then Lamia lunged, snapping jaws punctuated with the pop of Dust. For a moment, Cinder’s heart stopped, and then her Mother reared back, shaking her head as blood gushed. A spear of see-through ice shook loose from the thick muscle connecting her jaws and shattered against the stone some ways away. 

And Glynda—

Glynda was still alive! Hope crested in Cinder, who watched as Glynda shot forward to slip beneath Lamia, her spent ring still glowing bright blue.

The dragon whirled to follow her movements, blood splashing from her eye and jaw, teeth snapping after her lost prey. Glynda ducked to avoid her, but one massive hand flew at her and crushed her to the ground, like swatting an annoying insect. Before Glynda could fight herself free of the dragon’s palm, Lamia’s bloody mouth shot down towards her. When the mighty jaws closed and yanked upwards, there was an eerily short but pained scream, before, finally, Lamia slammed Glynda back down, throwing her hard against the floor like a discarded toy. 

Like a judge’s gavel. Like an executioner’s blade. 

_ Final.  _

Cinder felt it. She didn't need to see it to know. Like the last chime of a funeral bell, the pressure of Glynda’s soul gave a defiant flare—and then vanished.

Cinder’s lungs were bereft of air. As if the soul’s passing had sucked the room dry of it, Cinder gasped for breath. The crushing weight of the bone-deep knowledge of what had happened threatened to send her crashing back down, but she refused to believe it. 

The unmistakable smell of blood polluted the air as Lamia breathed heavily, her head drooping to inspect her work as red and black mixed in her mouth. Her long fangs were stained deep red, and black ichor dripped from her slashed jaw onto Glynda’s face. 

_ No, _ Cinder thought, lurching forward into a frantic sprint. Her Aura screamed exhaustion through her, but she was deaf to it.  _ No, no, no, no! _

In a sickening confirmation, her mother’s form started to change, shrinking back down until she was nearly human. Black blood rushed down the side of her neck, her wound connecting with the one Bacia had given her so long ago, but Cinder could only see the bright red on her still-bared teeth. 

Red. Human red.

Tears were already flowing as Cinder shoved past her. Her mother’s pained voice was drowned out in the rushing current of her own blood, her own heartbeat, so unfairly continuing on despite the tragedy at hand.

She already knew Glynda was dead, but she had to look, had to see it for herself. The room felt vast without her soul in it. Cinder’s own body felt hollow without it. Hollow as Glynda’s chest, holes of Lamia’s bite punched straight through it, lymph and blood spurting weakly. Hollow as the Witch soul, escaping through the gaping wounds. 

“Glynda!” It had happened in an instant. They had been doing so well. A single misstep was all it had taken. _ “Glynda!” _

Cinder fell to her knees, ignorant of everything else, and reached for her face. Her hands shook so badly she could barely hold Glynda, palms slicking with blood as she bent over the body. Empty eyes stared up at her from an expression locked in fear.

The ugly throbbing of her heart almost drowned out her cries, and Cinder gave herself to the sorrow, feeling not even a spark of reaction when she offered what little her Aura could give.

There was nothing left in Glynda, everything leaking out onto the stone.

**“Daughter,”** Lamia said, winded and panting at Cinder’s shoulder. The touch of her blooded claws only redoubled Cinder’s grief, promising that this was real, this was happening.

Glynda was dead.

And mingled with Cinder’s rising grief came fury.

Cinder threw herself around, a whirlwind of fire and smoke, lashings of flame striking out at her mother. She thought her own scream sounded more than worthy of a dragon’s daughter, infused with suffering, with intent to harm, with animal rage.

Her mother didn’t even look surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> matching tunes for this time:
> 
> [this!!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ylv1_BnD4Q) and [this!!!!!!!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2D8oUY6bkdA)
> 
> DON'T FORGET TO KEEP READING!!!!!!!!!!!


	28. Chapter 28

The sound of Cinder’s screams shook the chamber. 

Momentum carried her from one strike into the next, her whole body thrown forward with the force of a freight train. Throat already raw, half blind from the tears, she knew only the retreating shape of her mother, her arms raised defensively against the brutal force of Cinder’s attacks. 

Lamia didn’t speak, but the grimace she wore was pleading, as if her very life depended on Cinder’s mercy. Flames belched from Cinder’s palms, flaring hot and violent before Lamia could turn them aside. She moved with the wild, lurching ferocity of an animal. An over-extension, a turn taken too quickly—Cinder screamed again, all the fury of the mountain boiling through her veins like hot magma, and the last thing she considered was _mercy._

Her blunt, human nails were poor claws, but wreathed in flame, they could rip and tear just as easily as her mother’s. Lamia tried to stiffen herself against the onslaught, but Cinder barrelled forward, demanding everything from her Aura. 

The impact ricocheted from the hard elbow driven into Lamia’s gut to each of her joints. They felt like they might tear, ligaments unable to withstand the strain, but Cinder could only focus on the grunt of pain Lamia let out as she was pushed back.  

There was no strength left for defense. Cinder had poured it all into her assault, and even mustering that felt like scraping her nails against the bottom of a barrel. The intense heat of this place sparked power within her, but she consumed it the moment it bloomed into existence, constantly digging for more. If blood would have fed her Aura, she’d have flayed herself alive already, desperate just for the chance to harm, to hurt, to feel something break beneath her fingers. 

Lamia renewed her retreat and leapt away, her speed impossible to match, but if Cinder stopped now, she knew she would crumble. If she stopped now, she knew Glynda’s death would be real.

As if they had traded spaces, Cinder kept herself moving through fury alone, her loss pushed aside only for as long as she could continue to fight. Lamia, on the other hand, had already killed the source of her fury, and now her expression slid further and further into agonized realization: 

Killing Glynda had changed nothing for her. 

But it had changed everything for Cinder. 

Without care or concern, Cinder battered herself against Lamia’s strength, not bothering to even try for defense. She didn’t care if she bled. She didn’t care if she broke. 

All her life, she had done whatever it took to survive. Cursing pride and empathy alike, she had wriggled through the cracks, stubborn as an insect. She had begged and bartered and killed for her life, never placing anything or anyone above it. 

But now she faced down an enemy she knew she couldn’t kill. She knew it even in her rage, knew that it would take only a thought for Lamia to reduce her to strips of meat. That no matter what she threw at Lamia, no matter what she tried, she would never succeed against her mother. 

It went against everything she had struggled for decades towards, but now that didn’t matter. For the first time in her life, Cinder felt the survivor within her wither away. 

After every vow Cinder had made, after every staggering step, Lamia had still killed Glynda. Cinder hadn’t protected her at all, and the pain of that was simply too much to bear. With reckless abandon, she gave every inch of herself to the flames, commanding them higher and higher until they shrouded each arm. The Dust stitched into her clothes burned hotter, glowing gold and then white. Every dig for more Aura threatened to split her open.

She didn’t  _ care. _

Cinder reached deeper, vaulting forward and delivering a vicious, clawed attack to where black blood still spurted from Lamia’s neck. Yowling, Lamia twisted away, but before Cinder could give pursuit, something in her ripped, like a rubber band stretched too far. She hit the ground with a hack of blood, the whole world buzzing and spinning around her as she tumbled from her knees to her side. 

It felt like she couldn’t breathe, alarms erupting all over her body that screamed to stop. Her arm throbbed and burned like knives had been driven through it, and Cinder loosed a cry of pain and rage. 

People who overtaxed their bodies and Auras ended up with torn muscles and broken bones, but not even the taste of copper in her mouth could stop Cinder from trying to draw more from the blazing stone beneath her. 

**“Cinder!”**

Aura sparked in her only to be swept away as she directed it back into her remaining hand, the nails all cracked from so many strikes. Gritting her teeth, Cinder pushed herself up to her knees before Lamia could reach her, a cutting glare fending off her concern. Lamia flinched back, and Cinder bared her teeth and forced herself up, ignoring her useless limb and throwing herself at Lamia again. 

Stumbling would mean reality would return. Stopping would mean she’d be left with nothing but Glynda’s broken, empty body. 

Just like her mother before her, she pushed off those truths, veiled herself in fury, and attacked. 

*

There was light.

It started as a speck on the edge of all existence, pale and distant as far away stars, but gravity pulled it inexorably closer. Warm rays brought clarity to the darkened world—or they would have, had anything existed here. In the vacuum of this place, there was only the light and the endless black, and somewhere between them: Glynda. 

Cloaked in the gentle luminance, she felt weightless. Her mind was as empty as the world around her, but there was a comfort in that. 

She inhaled. Closed her eyes. Exhaled. Opened them. 

Nothing had changed, save for the light. As she drew closer, she felt its magnetism more acutely. From the hazy fuzz which veiled her body, a tether of something invisible but endlessly mighty tugged at her chest. 

It wasn’t painful. Nothing was painful, and for that, she was grateful. Whatever happened, as long as there was no pain, she didn’t mind. 

Without struggle, she allowed herself to be pulled into the core of light. It should have been too bright, but she found there was nothing to fear here. It wrapped around her like a blanket, familiar as an old friend, and she sighed. If she could have leaned into it, she would have. 

Curling into a ball, she blinked slowly, feeling the cusp of a long sleep tugging at her soul. As welcoming as hibernation during a bitter winter, she didn’t resist it. Didn’t want to. 

Glynda tucked her face into her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. She opened her eyes. Closed them. Opened them again. At the edges of the darkness, she saw soft glimmers, thousands of twinkling constellations. She closed her eyes. Opened them. They shined brighter, but none as bright as the figure standing before her. 

Nothing here could hurt her, so Glynda looked up at the figure with interest rather than alarm. Her soul seemed to sigh softly. 

She shimmered. Like her flesh had been sewn of a hundred stars, she appeared to shift and ripple. Though there was no wind here, her loose skirt danced around her knees like small waves on a placid sea. Crowned in flowers, she smiled down upon Glynda, her eyes kind and inviting. 

Glynda felt a tingle of recognition, like noticing the reflection of a long-lost friend in calm waters. A twinkle of pride sparked in the woman’s eyes.

And then the world opened beneath Glynda, her stomach dropping as gravity seized her. Red flashed above her, and the explosion of a thousand gunshots pierced the silence. Alarms blared and people screamed, the dead and dying littering the darkness around her. Metal walls and confined spaces: a bunker.

Glynda wheezed, her lungs full of blood, her Aura pushed to its absolute limits. She shook, trembling with fear, and frantically looked around.

“Don’t worry, we’re going home.” 

A familiar voice cut through the chaos. His arms cradled her close to his chest, and she let her head fall back, eyes widening at the face illuminated in stark red tones. 

Above her, Ozpin was covered in sweat and grim, his hair wild. In the darkness, he was bleak and desperate, blood staining his torn collar, his glasses missing their lenses. 

“Help will be here soon,” he promised, his voice quaking with panic. Tears welled in his eyes. “Just hold on a little longer.”

A hand that wasn’t her own stretched up to touch his face. Blood coated dark skin, flecked beneath the nails. Glynda could feel the warm tears on Ozpin’s cheek as the hand wiped them away. Her throat ached as though it was her trying to speak, but the voice that came out was delicate and soft. 

“I’m tired, Oz,” it said, barely more than a whisper. There was something warm and wet across her body, but she felt cold. “All this fighting is such a bother.”

Glynda felt herself smile, but Oz couldn’t return it. 

In the distance, a massive explosion joined the gunshots, and the soldiers— _ students _ —around them all shuddered as the bunker groaned. Oz snapped to attention, holding her a little closer. It hurt. Glynda was scared, but she didn’t want him to know. He always cried when things got bad. She had to show him it would be okay. 

That hand that was hers but wasn’t dropped to his shoulder. In the flashing light of the bunker, his brooch gleamed like a beacon. 

“Don’t worry,” he repeated. “It will be over soon. They’re coming for us.”

Her eyes were trained on the brooch, the reflection of a beautiful girl with blonde curls and dark freckles staring back at her. “No more fighting after this. I can’t bear it.”

This war had dragged on too long. Peace had to come soon. If they’d only entrust it to the right people, she was sure there would be peace soon. People who knew what fighting meant. People who wanted the killing to stop. Patient and kind. 

Ozpin bowed his head, pressing his forehead to hers. He choked on every word, but managed, “No more fighting. We’re going home together. Just stay with me,  _ please.” _

She wanted to, but she was getting colder by the second. Everything was beginning to go hazy at the edges. The explosions sounded closer now. The dark gem at the core of Ozpin’s brooch gleamed.

People like Ozpin. Ozpin could stop the fighting, if only given the chance. 

“Go home,” came the voice that was not hers. Glynda could feel tears in her eyes, a building buzz filling her chest even without Aura. “And no more fighting.”

Ozpin’s tears dropped onto her forehead, sliding down to mingle with her own. He squeezed her so tight she couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t hurt anymore. She tried to laugh, but it came out as a wet cough. 

“Vi, please…” Ozpin sobbed. “Vi!”

She tugged at his collar, curling into him with all the strength she had left. For a moment, the gunshots and blasts and crying soldiers all faded and there was only the two of them. There was only the knowledge—the determination—that even if she couldn’t go on, Ozpin had to. 

A terrible rending in her chest shattered that moment, white hot pain shooting through her until her whole body quaked with the intensity of it. As if someone were pulling her apart, bit by bit, every tattered piece screaming in agony. And then it faded to a gentle warmth, coalescing in her chest, her lungs. She went lax. It took away her fear. It filled her with hope and life. 

And she breathed it out on her next exhale, her eyes sliding closed, knowing Ozpin would carry it on. 

Glynda shot up, grasping at her throat and covering her mouth, tears in her eyes. The bunker was gone, that gentle light returning. Gasping for air, she found the figure from before standing in front of her still, that peaceful smile tugging at her lips. 

Glynda choked out a muted sob:  _ “Vi.” _

The stars around her all gleamed brighter, but Vivienne herself seemed to solidify, nodding silently. 

Blonde locks tumbled over her thin shoulders, not a trace of the bunker or the pain left on her. Glynda felt the tears continue to flow, dropping her hand from her mouth. Quietly, she said, “You wanted to make sure he survived.”

Vi nodded again, closing her eyes and clasping her hands behind her back. For a moment, she was the picture of the spectre Glynda had seen behind Ozpin, a loving determination in everything she did. Glynda bowed her head and wiped at her eyes. She understood now exactly why Oz had trusted Vi so much, even after her death. Being her,  _ dying _ with her in that bunker as her soul fractured—she knew a part of Vi would always be with Ozpin. 

And that part of her would always protect him. 

A hand on her shoulder startled Glynda, and the thing in her chest gave another tired sigh. The Witch soul wanted to rest, but Glynda looked up, twisting her head to find another shimmering apparition at her side, this one completely unknown to her. 

Gaping, she stared up at the angled face and short, spiked hair. From beneath dark fringe, sad eyes stared down at her, a weak smile tilting narrow lips. 

The world fell out from beneath her again, but this time there was no darkness. Stone glowed with a burning ferocity. Flames licked at the walls, sulfur and magma bubbling up from vents in the floor, and a scream shook the chamber like the earth itself couldn’t contain such a horrible sound. 

Glynda barely felt it. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything. 

Underwater, the sound meant less. Hurt less. It didn’t slow her down like it would have. She swung her scythe, a massive, jagged thing, and whipped away from a plume of flames, her eyes rising to behold the beast at the center of it all. 

_ Dragon. _

It was bigger than anything else Glynda had ever faced, its wings spread behind it, its lips pulled back in a feral growl. Every part of Glynda should have trembled before such a powerful, ancient being, but she felt nothing, her chest empty, the casing cracked and fractured. She leapt forward, her red cloak dancing behind her, and cleared the distance between them in a single bound. 

Vicious claws scored lines through the air, but Glynda was too quick, her eyes set on the kill. Her blood boiled with it, hunting instincts honed to a fine point by erasing everything else. 

She used the flashing claws of the dragon as a springboard, shooting up towards its face, her scythe pulled back in a wide swing. The end hummed with power, vibrating up through Glynda’s arms, but nothing compared to the shockwaves that rattled through her when her scythe buried itself in the black scales at the base of the dragon’s skull. 

The dragon screamed, but it was rage, not pain. Still not enough to break through its scales. Glynda should have retreated, so close to its maw, but she wanted its head, her scythe in the perfect position. 

Glynda braced her legs on the neck of the dragon, well aware it was already preparing to shake her loose. With a rush of her Semblance and a concussive blast, the end of her scythe exploded, the recoil pushing it back with enough force to level buildings. With a crack of shattering scales, the dragon screamed again, and this time Glynda saw black ichor erupt from the back of its neck as the blade of her scythe drove itself deep into the flesh there. 

Not enough. 

Before her blade could reach bone, the dragon shook its head, sending Glynda flying in a rain of blood. Glynda landed in a pile of bones, looking up at the creature which still had her weapon embedded in its neck. 

She saw molten eyes. And then she saw teeth. 

The breaking of bones and tearing of flesh didn’t hurt. Bleeding out didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt. She was simply cold. Even in the belly of this mountain, Glynda was cold. Her vision was fading. She could only see the ceiling. 

The dragon continued to howl even as it shrunk, Glynda’s scythe clattering to the ground nearby. Red blood coated its mouth, but black spilled down its back. Glynda thought it was strange that she didn’t feel even a fraction of the pain the dragon was experiencing. She tilted her head to watch and felt warmth blood on her cheek, pooling around her.

The dragon writhed, but Glynda, torn open on the ground, couldn’t relate. Nothing could hurt her like the dragon was hurting. Maybe once, but not anymore. 

Glynda’s hand drifted to the rent flesh of her chest, ripped open but still lined with a hollow ache nothing could abate. It surprised her: after all this time, the tearing sensation which had ripped her apart when she gave herself to the machine still hurt more. 

A tall, dark shape came to stand over her. 

Glynda wished she could have done more. As a Witch, she should have done more. 

But this was as much as she could give, a piece of herself left behind on the hill of daffodils.

She wished she had done more. She wished she had done better. She wished she had  _ been _ better. No Witch had failed as much as she had. No Witch had hurt people as much as she had. Just thinking about it revived that old pain, and unexpectedly, she felt wetness at the corners of her eyes. 

Glynda closed her eyes and felt the dragon crush her skull beneath its heel. 

When the pale light enveloped her again, Glynda couldn’t even cry. She stared up at the sharpening image of the woman above her, and her heart clenched, a kindred emptiness nestled in her own breast. 

Lamia. A scythe.  _ The machine.  _

“Bacia.”

Bacia gave a weary shrug. 

“You did okay,” Glynda murmured, lifting her hand to touch the one on her shoulder. There was substance there, a surprising physicality to her even if her skin still shimmered like stardust. Glynda squeezed Bacia’s hand. “You always did your best. Even when people used you.” 

Bacia blinked slowly. A mournful smile crept across her face, like the memory still weighed on her. 

Though she looked grateful for the words, Bacia said nothing as she took Glynda’s hand and helped her to her feet. Her limbs felt like chains, her whole body made of lead, and a weakness seized her which she hadn’t felt before. Before she could stumble, Vi reached out, steadying her. Bacia clasped one shoulder and Vi the other, and between them, Glynda managed to stand. 

Glynda looked between the two of them, so different and yet closer than sisters. They had shared the same soul across different centuries, the same one which had given Glynda the power to keep going time and time again.

It had never been so clear as it was now, their arms extended to their fellow Witch. Seeing them, feeling them, simply  _ being here _ —Glynda felt her breath grow wane. It was like coming home. It was like family. The connection she’d been chasing ever since she’d found out just what she was. 

Ever since she’d been a child, she had never had the words for what she’d been missing, what she had lacked. Now it was shown to her in glimmering clarity, and Glynda felt, once more, her eyes cloud with tears. Bowing her head, she couldn’t help but smile, and at each shoulder, Bacia and Vi grew closer, bolstering her feeble strength with their own. 

“T-thank you,” Glynda choked out. Vi leaned her head on Glynda’s shoulder and Bacia patted her back. The warmth that exuded from them awakened the memory of a long-lost comfort, and Glynda felt completely at ease. “I’ve wanted to meet you. I’ve always wanted to know about you. You were…”

Before she could finish, the world glowed brighter again, and Glynda looked up in time to see the distant shape of a person emerge from the constellations drawing closer around them. 

This time her heart skipped a beat. 

Copper skin and black hair. A tail which swished by her ankles. Regret and sorrow and love. Glynda would have known her anywhere. She had shared more than kinship with her. In the dark and damp of Mountain Glenn, in the monument to death left behind by her mistake, Glynda had found the traces of her lining thick, thorny vines. She had lived them as vividly as if they were her own. 

Face to face with her now, Glynda felt light-headed. She wiped at her tears and murmured, “Ilkay.”

Ilkay didn’t respond, but averted her eyes. She stood farther back than the other two, hovering at the edge of their space, but the stars continued to weave tighter around them. With nowhere to retreat, she could only move forward when Bacia beckoned her with a smile and wave.  

Ilkay slinked closer, keeping her head down. Every bit of her was grim and grave. Every bit of her was fraught with a deep-seated guilt.

It was only as she stopped before her that Glynda realized what this would mean. She flinched, jerking her head away, panic swallowing her. She couldn’t live that again. She couldn’t feel all that pain as Lamia tore her apart, bit by bit. Bacia had been too deep within her Void, but Ilkay had felt every ounce of Lamia’s rage. 

The phantom pain preceded the vision she knew would come, and Glynda clutched at her stomach instinctively— 

Warm and wet. Tattered fabric beneath her grasp. 

Glynda opened her eyes, staring down, but the light of this place hadn’t faded. There was no laboratory. No Lamia. This was  _ her _ body, and as she looked down on herself, she found it covered in red. Jagged punctures ripped through her shirt, only barely concealing the open wounds beneath. 

A violent shudder ran through her entire body. Had it not been for the strong arms supporting her, she would have fallen. 

“Blood?” Glynda could scarcely breathe. Ilkay was in front of her now, a solid eight inches shorter but filled to the brim with remorse. “Why—”

Arms slid around Glynda’s neck, tiny claws pressing almost uncomfortably against her shoulders. Just like Vi and Bacia, Ilkay was solid, real. She pushed herself up onto her toes and hugged Glynda as tightly as she could. She was warm. She was weary. She was sorry. 

Lamia had been her doing. The shadow which had haunted every Witch after her had been Ilkay’s doing, and she knew it. 

The embrace was filled with apologies. Though she had yet to say a word, Glynda could feel them in every flex of muscle as Ilkay squeezed her. The centuries had done nothing to soften that blow, just as they had done nothing for Bacia. 

Slowly, Glynda’s arms wound around Ilkay. Bending, she hugged her in return, her chin set to Ilkay’s shoulder. 

“You didn’t mean to,” Glynda said, her voice trembling, mind racing with questions. “It’s okay.”

As she said this, the world seemed to take shape. Take  _ shapes. _ The thousands of stars Glynda had been seeing knit together to form hundreds of women. Faces stretched as far as the eye could see, Faunus and human alike, each basked in the same pale light. 

Among them, there was no semblance of trends. Some were dark and beautiful as the night sky while others were fair and dotted with innumerable freckles. Some were wizened with age while others were no older than Glynda’s students at Beacon, a fact that broke her heart. Soft or hardened, thin or heavy, they were each as different as could be from one another.

There was only one thing which connected them:

_ They’re all Witches, _ Glynda recognized implicitly, her chest brimming with warmth. 

This place, which had felt so empty when Glynda had arrived, was overflowing with life. 

From all walks of life. From across thousands of years. They gathered here now to welcome one of their own with open arms, each looking at her as though they’d known her all her life. Spun of beauty and adoration, they watched her with love in their eyes, so acute that Glynda felt all at once overwhelmed. 

Like coming home. Like finally knowing what home was. 

Tears spilled down her cheeks, and Ilkay hugged her tighter, Vi and Bacia so close she could feel them. Burying her face in the crook of Ilkay’s neck, Glynda breathed in the infinite cosmos and all the love which had crafted it, crafted  _ them.  _

A perfect moment stretched in many. Many pressed into one. 

That was the nature of them—always would be—and Glynda felt all her fears and apprehensions melt away at that. She felt pure bliss. 

_ Except.  _

The thought dug its claws in at the base of her neck:

Vi, Bacia, Ilkay, all of these Witches… They’d all died. They shouldn’t have been here with Glynda. Glynda was… She was… 

An ebbing throb was building in her chest. It burned like knives being driven into her flesh inch by inch. Her hands were still covered in blood, and a subtle fear began to constrict her throat.

That was when she saw the last apparition. 

Standing in the distance, it seemed spun of stardust just as the others. Suns exploded into brilliant supernovas in its tumbling, blonde hair, and every scar across pale skin seemed drawn with aching care. Between them, a glistening thread spun of light itself, the tether which had pulled Glynda here in the first place.

Glynda felt herself choke out a sob as she stared at the mirror image of herself. Perfect and whole, the apparition stared at Glynda with vacant eyes, its hands empty at its sides. 

As soon as their gazes met, Glynda remembered. Like being thrust into orbit, there was no steady ground beneath her now. She hurtled through her final walk, the long, darkened tunnel leading down into the bowels of the planet. The heat, the hopelessness, the drag of nails across her body as she drowned in the presence waiting for her at the end. 

Death. Lamia. She had walked right into its jaws, all because turning away would have meant—

_ Cinder.  _

Before she’d left, she’d burned Cinder’s features into her mind’s eye, and they came to her perfectly now. Soft. Peaceful. Alive. She’d had to go on to keep her alive. To give her a chance. 

A scream pierced the chaos, fury and ferocity mixed to a terrifying poison. Lamia, her eye oozing black, the fire on her skin swallowing up everything, leaving only the dragon. Another scream, this one in the shape of Glynda’s name, and then teeth. Teeth, teeth, teeth, razor sharp incisors cutting into her, shredding her skin and ripping through her ribs to reach the organs beneath. 

Cinder’s wail of fury had rivalled her mother’s. 

Rebounding so hard the momentum itself seemed to rip her from Ilkay’s arms, Glynda found herself on the ground. Glynda scrambled, sweating, as the echo of hellfire and battle rang through her head. From her chest, the tether connecting her to the apparition of herself snapped taut.

“She’s still there.” Glynda felt sick. “She’s still fighting!”

The Witches all seemed to feel and sympathize with her. Even Vi stared down at her with pity. 

“I can’t be here!” Glynda felt breathless, her lungs crushed by the weight of the soul in her chest. That tether tugged hard, drawing her in, and Glynda writhed, trying to turn away from it. “Cinder is… S-she’s…!”

As her voice fettered out, Glynda curled in on herself, resisting, refusing to face the figure of herself. Footsteps echoed through the vastness of this space, and panting, she saw the star-speckled reflection of herself standing over her. 

Concrete eyes stared down at her, lifeless.

This was her. She was dead, just like all of these other Witches. 

Digging her fingers into her front, she felt the wounds pulse with new vivacity, the memory of Lamia trying to tear her very soul from her chest rushing back. It hurt. It hurt so much she could barely think of anything else. 

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but Glynda held tight to the image of Cinder in her head. Cinder was alive. Cinder was  _ alone. _

The blurring faces of Vi and Bacia and Ilkay gathered around her overhead. They touched the apparition of Glynda, as if to say there was nothing to fear. As if to say the pain would cease the moment she let go. 

Glynda only shut her eyes to them, clawing at her chest and feeling—feeling, impossibly, the tether drawing her toward the image of herself. She gripped it with what feeble strength remained to her, sobbing through the pain. 

She couldn’t leave Cinder alone. Flashes of possibilities thumped with the beat of her heart. 

Cinder afraid. Cinder enraged. Cinder flaying herself alive. Cinder, Cinder,  _ Cinder. _

Around her, fissures of black carved through the kind illumination of this place. Tremors rocked the solid ground beneath her, and Glynda felt a coalescing of heat and hurt between her lungs. 

She couldn’t hold on. She choked on her own tongue, desperate to draw breath. 

Above her, the reflection of herself stared down as her, flanked by the alarmed faces of the Witches who had come before her. Slowly, as all existence seemed to tremble around them, a smile crept onto its lips. Its eyes softened. 

“I see,” the double said, touching its chest. 

In immediate response—no, echo—Glynda felt the reverberation like a final bell toll in her soul. Her chest felt like it was going to burst at the seams, and she let out a whimper. 

Unaffected, serene even, the apparition nodded down at her and said: “Do your best.”

Something shattered.  _ Everything _ shattered. 

The ground fell out from beneath Glynda, the light fractured into a million shards, and on her next exhale, the pressure building in her chest escaped without a trace. Like gravity reasserting itself, she dropped. Plummeting from the warm light, she watched as her fellow Witches vanished, the dark swallowing her in a cold embrace. 

There was no tether to hold her aloft. 

There was only the memory of Cinder’s face as she fell. 

*

What did  _ unforgivable _ mean to Cinder Fall? Had she known before then what exactly it would do to her? Had she ever even  _ imagined _ the scope of it?

The smell of fire. Blood under her fingernails from lucky, but ineffective, scratches—wounds that lined her mother’s arms and hands. Defensive wounds, bleeding black Grimm’s blood.

Unforgivable.

Had she ever known the true depth of the word? How the unforgivable tore at her from inside, devouring every happy memory, erasing every future and leaving only an empty hole—how her mother’s unforgivable killing hadn't only slain the Witch, but Cinder as well?

She chased her across the room, relentless as if her body existed for no other purpose. Her mother remained on the defensive, leaping back from every flame-wreathed slash of Cinder’s claws. Her mouth was moving, but Cinder only heard the roar of fire and her own blood thundering through her veins, head boiling red-hot with overwhelming emotions—

_ Unforgivable _ . She had warned them both—if either of them ended the other, it would carve out a piece of Cinder at the same time.

They passed Glynda’s body several times. Cinder didn't look. Couldn't look. Didn't have to look.

Lamia looked. Her eyes flickered, from the body to Cinder to the scattered scraps which had been the machine. Panic opened her hard features into an almost human face.

The instant she slowed, Cinder was on her like a vicious dog, latching on with claws and fire and teeth. Lamia grappled with her briefly, but her much stronger hands—hands which had once held Cinder with loving care—easily broke Cinder’s grip.

Once, so many months ago when the hunt and chase was hot in her blood, she had looked with disdain at Glynda—how she hadn't known how to stop, how she seemed determined to run herself into the ground for even the chance to draw blood. 

Now, Cinder was beginning to understand.

Lamia shook her off and sent her tumbling across the rough floor. Her arm flared hot as the torn muscle and tendons cried out for succor, only to be stoutly refused as Cinder routed her feeble Aura into rising. She righted herself, striking sparks against the stone with the force as she exploded forward again. Teeth snapping, spewing fire and curses, she flew at her unbeatable foe over and over, her marrow singing with each blow:  _ unforgivable _ .

Had her mother found any satisfaction in slaying Glynda? Any relief from the grief of her own existence?

Would Cinder find any in this hopeless battle?

No matter matter how she tried to ignore it, the axiom at the core of her said she wouldn’t. 

**“Cinder—!”**

A wordless scream was the only response, cutting off her mother’s broken plea. Even if it wouldn’t change anything, Cinder felt the throb of possibility across her skull: she stopped fighting, she broke down, and her mother gathered her into her arms. 

And Cinder wouldn’t have the strength to resist weeping into her chest. 

So she pushed past the pain, pushed past the sorrow. The only thing more unforgivable than what Mother had done would be to stay by her afterwards.

That her mother understood even this showed in her face, in the exhaustion etched into it from centuries of wretched existence. Her days had been marked only by new wars waged by and against her. Fighting humans, fighting herself—did she ever imagine she’d even have to fight her own daughter?

Truly alone for the first time since she’d come into being; at the ends of the world in an endless wasteland; surrounded by the noise and the hatred and the cold, Lamia seemed to break. There was no anger to sustain her. Her guard drooped. Her deflections were too slow. 

_ Don’t leave me, _ her gaze seemed to plead. The tears kept coming.  _ Don’t abandon me, daughter. _

It was only by inches that Lamia avoided Cinder’s next ruthless strike. Cinder leapt after her, mercy scrubbed from her bones. 

Cinder had refused to choose, always dawdling on the decision between her mother and Glynda. In the end, she had lost them both in her folly. Had she thought, even for a second, that she was truly capable of stopping her mother? Had she ever imagined what trying to dam centuries of determination would be like, when all she was willing to use were words?

Her stupidity had cost Glynda’s life. That, in turn, had cost her mother a daughter. 

_ Unforgivable _ . 

Streaks of blue light burst from her palm, a building glow that sent chills of cold up her good arm. The familiar sizzle of Dust, the pop of ozone in the air—Cinder knew it instinctively. Her fury didn’t allow for subtlety, the move so telegraphed she might as well have announced it out loud. 

Lamia didn’t even look at the ring. One of her eyes had been taken, black and sticky. The other reflected only Cinder herself. Her jaw slackened, feral fangs protruding from red lips. 

Slowly, her knees gave.

Flight abandoned, Lamia dropped to the cavern’s floor, opening her arms as though inviting Cinder into her embrace. A final plea, perhaps, begging Cinder to stop, to put her weapon down, to return to her mother at last.

It put a stumble in Cinder’s step.

Could even  _ this _ not change her affections? Did she love that deeply? 

The sharp noise of detonation and the physical impact of Dust to flesh sent a jolt through her. Ice burned beneath her fingertips, steam rising from the collision of intense heat and concentrated cold. Black spilled along the bladed tip of the lance.

Lamia touched the lance, her massive hand enveloping the end protruding from her chest.  **“Daughter…”**

Hunched over the shaft of the lance, Cinder stood face to face with her at last. Black blood dribbled down the lance, wetting her fingers. 

Cinder’s mouth twisted.  _ Too shallow.  _

With only the strength of one arm behind the thrust, she would have had to put everything into it to reach the beating heart at the core of her mother. But at the last moment, the openness of her mother’s gesture had staggered her. She’d  _ faltered, _ and the spear of Dust piercing her mother’s skin was just that—skin deep.

Lamia only looked down for a second. Cinder felt a thousand words building on her lips, each only moments away from bursting out, but none could bear to be the first. For a long time, everything was silent. Cinder knew this wound wouldn't kill her mother—it was barely flesh deep, the final hesitation damning them both to continue this game.

There was no momentum to carry Cinder forward. There was only the weeping wound, the black blood mixing with the cascades of dark hair which tumbled over her mother’s shoulders. There was only her mother’s blood-tipped fingers reaching for her, the molten sensation of her palm against Cinder’s cheek. 

In Corinth, when Cinder had raised her eyes to meet her mother’s gaze, she had been alight in the glow of her own love. Now every part of her was tinged dark, blood and betrayal amplifying every shadow. 

**“My daughter,”** Lamia choked, her voice taut with restrained sobs.  **“My light. For a Witch… You would hate me to such an extent?**

Cinder hadn’t believed her mother’s pain could still hurt her.

**“Wouldn’t we have been enough?”**

Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, and Cinder blinked hard against them. Time was returning. Reality was returning. Glynda was dead. Nothing had changed. Against the bottomless sea of her anguish, Cinder’s fury couldn’t last. 

Cinder hated herself for that. Hated that as the seconds dragged by, her grip on the frozen lance grew more and more lax. Hated that she couldn’t carve retribution from her mother. 

Pressed up against lethality but unable to cross the line, Cinder felt the tears sliding down her cheeks. They were mirror images of each other, their worlds crumbling to ash before their eyes. Though her throat constricted painfully and she quaked down to the soles of her shoes, Cinder managed to stutter out one word. It was the one which had scourged her mind and set it aflame with fleeting fury:

_ “Unforgivable.” _

Mother’s fingers tightened around the end of the lance, her teeth bared in an agonized grimace. 

The violent roar of blood and fire in her veins faded to a mere murmur, her shoulders trembling. Cinder could only hear her own heavy breathing, ragged from sobs and battle, and, impossibly, footsteps.

Lamia’s eyes flickered up at the same time that Cinder registered the sound. Something dark reflected in those gold eyes, but her taut expression told a story of futility. 

Swallowing, Lamia said,  **“Then all is lost.”**

The smell of magic and blood was a familiar one, sulfur and smoke and spent Dust unable to mask the undertones of flowers— _ poppies. _ Powerful arms closed around Cinder’s shoulders, yanking her backwards, away from her mother and unfinished kill, and for one, traitorous moment, Cinder’s heart dared to hope.

“Cinder!”

Glynda’s voice could have cleaved mountains clean in two, could have wrangled stars from their orbit and pulled them close to Remnant. The ragged melody of it filled a vacuum in Cinder’s chest. Twisting, her hand slipped from the lance, time slowing to a crawl. 

Something hard crushed her hand against the lance, pinning her in place. 

Shocks of pain shot up Cinder’s arm, her cry muted from the intense pound of her heart. Jerked back into place, Cinder saw only her mother, blackened hands grasping the length of the frozen weapon with inhuman strength. Silent words formed on her lips, dying in her throat before she could speak them, but her eyes were shadowed and downcast. 

Frozen in horror, Cinder felt those powerful hands draw her forward, heard the rip of flesh as the lance penetrated deeper. 

_ “Mother!” _

Teeth grit, Lamia’s muscles flexed against the inborn resistance of Cinder’s recoil. A bloodied arm enveloped Cinder, grasping the lance below Lamia’s grip and tugging back as well. 

Glynda. Cinder couldn’t see her, couldn’t feel her. Couldn’t sense the Witch at all. But the solid presence at her back couldn’t have been anyone else. 

No one else could have fought against Lamia’s strength like that. 

Cinder cried out as her mother’s grip tightened, her bones fracturing beneath the force. The lance inched forward, Lamia ragged in her determination. Even the combination of Cinder and Glynda’s  strength couldn’t match her. Every inhale burned like red Dust lined the insides of Cinder’s lungs. Her eyes met her mother’s. 

There was such weariness within them. Such regret. Such sorrow. 

“All is lost. This cannot continue.” Lamia’s voice was, for the first time, no more than a whisper. Almost pleading, she said, “I don’t want it to.”

Lamia had always been stronger than Glynda. Had always been stronger than both of them. With both hands now gripping Cinder’s, tearfully watching her daughter’s face, she finished what Cinder had started. Any human would have found it difficult, even impossible, to drive the frigid blade through her own heart.

Lamia only trembled. Only shook. Only whimpered softly.

But never looked away.

Cinder’s palm was flush against her mother’s chest. The shard of ice and magic cut through flesh and bone and ancient hatred, freezing patches of skin around the entry wound. After that, it was quick.

Lamia’s eyes rolled back, and she hacked. Her whole body shivered as if grasped by the cold, and her hands slipped from the lance, body dropping to the floor like a toppled monolith. The blunt end of the weapon clattered to the floor as Cinder tore her hand away from her mother’s extinguishing grip, Glynda following suit. 

Strong arms hugged her from behind, but Cinder couldn’t look away, watching the white frost creep up her mother’s skin. Her red lips paled. Her pitiful convulsions grew weaker, body curling in on the source of its pain. 

There was a moment of stillness, Lamia’s head lolling back. And then, as though struck by sudden inspiration, a light seemed to flare in her gold eyes. 

Her gaze passed by Cinder as if she wasn't even there, fixed on some indeterminate point above her. Cinder felt the very corporeal weight of Glynda on her back, heavy breathing tickling her neck, paralysis infecting them both. 

An expression which was neither a smile nor a grimace pulled at her mother’s lips. Her arm extended, reaching for something. And then she exhaled a cloud of frozen mist and went limp and lifeless, arm thumping to the ground beside her unstrung body.

Unlike with Glynda, there were no soul-quaking reverberations or suffocating emptiness. Cinder watched as her mother’s eye became nothing more than polished gold, a centuries-old fire snuffed out.

Only then did grief bite down, its teeth clamping over shock’s throat and tearing it from her. The building cry in her throat had Glynda tightening her arms around her, holding on as if it could change anything. The quiet which fell upon them felt like the eye of the storm, chaos abating for but a moment as Cinder was torn between horrified sorrow and shocked elation—Glynda was  _ alive _ , somehow, through some  _ miracle _ , alive and  _ holding _ her, alive and  _ breathing _ —

But her mother was not, and Cinder had killed her. Not the Witch. Her own daughter.

_ Unforgivable _ .

Had she even imagined this third path? Even in her darkest nightmares, had this feeling crossed her mind? 

“She—” Cinder gasped, pain throbbing through her hand as she grabbed Glynda’s arm, secure around her middle. “She did it—I didn’t hit her hard enough, but she—”

_Killed herself._ _Used_ _Cinder_ _to do it._

Cinder’s knees buckled. She would have fallen, but Glynda leaned against her back, a heavy anchor tethering her firmly to the physical world. 

It didn’t make sense. Grimm wanted to live. It ran in their blood, pumped through them with every beat of their heart. Lamia, the substance which healed even those without Aura. Lamia, the thing which kept them alive. 

Lamia, the mother who had loved Cinder no matter what she did, what she betrayed. 

The harsh sob which sprung from Cinder’s lips surprised her most of all, and all of the sudden it was like she was drowning, her throat already raw from crying out. The tears which she’d shed for Glynda still streaked her face as the second wave hit her. 

And this time, there was no one to hate, no one to lash out against to block out the pain. 

Glynda held on tight, but couldn't suppress the startled noise that escaped her. Bewildered at her reaction, Cinder raised her eyes, seeking connections, settling where her mother lay.

Like any Grimm corpse, her mother’s was fading away, wisps of acrid black smoke dissolving her physical form.

Unlike a regular Grimm, this body was leaving something behind.

It was a smaller figure, about Cinder’s own height—frail and thin, nothing like her mother, with no horns or claws or blood-red markings. Her face was like Lamia’s, similar enough to be unmistakable, but thinner than her mother’s had ever been, hollow cheeks and dark-circled eyes, poor health eating at a strong face. Long white hair splayed out around her, and Cinder barely heard Glynda’s whisper:

_ “Salem.” _

Memories of Mountain Glenn came unbidden, and the feelings of  _ being _ her mother, feeling her wrath and confusion coupled with grief made Cinder dizzy. Legs going limp beneath her, Cinder could only stumble as Glynda hauled her away from the body, her eyes locked on that sickly form. She felt as though she would vomit just from the weight of it all, and resolved to merely clinging to Glynda’s forearms, still pressed with her back to Glynda’s front.

This was what was left of her mother now, the offal dragged out of her mighty body. The only remains of the hunt which had taken them from Vale to Vacuo to Atlas at last. 

This was the human component of her mother, and looking down at her, Cinder remembered: though a will to live might have thumped through her with every beat of her Grimm heart, her mother had been human enough to hate it for that. To blame the Witch that had bestowed such an endless heart upon her. 

After centuries of misery, was  _ this _ what had proven too much for her? After losing Hati, losing hope?

Had Cinder’s wrath been the final injury she could not bear?

Cinder couldn’t look at the body anymore. Almost violently, she struggled in Glynda’s hold, unable to wriggle free without bringing them both down to the ground. Glynda’s refusal to let go saved her from a nasty fall, and instead of trying again to free herself, Cinder turned into Glynda. Long legs kicked out around Glynda’s hips, and Cinder buried her face into bloodied cloth. 

_ “Glynda!” _ Every word ripped through her throat, immediately muffled into Glynda’s shoulder. “You—you were—”

_ Dead. _ Cinder couldn’t even say the word aloud.

Behind her back, Cinder could feel the twist of Glynda’s hands, hear the slide of her metal ring in between her own wracking sobs. For the first time, Cinder noticed that Glynda shuddered in kind, her head bowed into Cinder’s hair. Moisture bled through dark locks, and when Glynda spoke it was tenuous with emotion: “I’m sorry. De-death is— _ kind _ . I promise. I promise.”

Cinder didn’t believe her. Couldn't. Had never seen death as anything more than a ravenous dog, always nipping at her heels. 

Something to escape. Something to despise. 

_ Never _ something to welcome with open arms.

Glynda may have flitted the line between apathetic and eager when it came to death, but Cinder had never wished for death. In even the fleeting rage which had pitted her against her mother, revenge had filled her full to the brim. The survivor in her had been silenced, but not for long.  No matter what, she couldn’t imagine someone seeking death. Especially not Mother, timeless and undying.

Fear pierced her heart with all the chill of the Dust lance which had killed her mother. Though the muscles in one arm still didn’t follow orders, she was able to hook the other around Glynda’s back, squeezing her as tight as possible as if that would ward off death. As if it wouldn’t be able to touch her, no matter what she wished.

Staking her claim, Cinder rasped, “You're alive.”

Folded into one another, Glynda should have felt more real. Cinder clung to her harder to keep her from slipping away again.

“Yeah,” Glynda managed through her own tears. “Yeah, I’m alive.”

Like she couldn’t believe it herself. Like she almost didn’t  _ want _ to believe it.

Face pressed into the crook of her neck, Cinder could feel Glynda’s pulse, could feel her chest expand against her own with every breath. It was proof that death hadn’t seized her. That she was still here with Cinder.

To Cinder, the  _ how _ didn’t matter. Not right now. 

Not when the hole which had just been filled by Glynda’s return now rang hollow with the loss of her mother. 

Grief lined their throats, clouded the world, narrowed it down to what they’d lost. Narrowed it down until even that seemed to fade under the crushing weight of pure sorrow. Cinder cried until it felt like she didn’t know what she was crying for anymore, only that it gripped her between its cruel jaws and refused to let go.

Anger had been more merciful. Hatred had been so much more merciful. 

There was no eloquence in mourning and no eloquence in them, but they held each other through it, their heads filled with what they’d lost but their hands holding what had stayed.

*

Nothing could last, not even their tears. 

Eventually their hoarse cries fettered off, gutted by exhaustion. Cinder felt her body slump in the aftermath, weak. They both leaned heavily into the other, holding each other up with some semblance of balance. Cheek resting against Glynda’s shoulder, Cinder could make out the tiny shape in the distance, limp upon the ground. 

_ Dead. Gone. _ The blood painted her hands black. 

She closed her eyes, fighting down the rising tide of guilt. As worn out as she was, it was easier, her emotions dialed down to a distant fuzz. White noise. Like all sensation and thought came through a filter.

Breathing hard, Cinder could feel the minute pulse of Aura through her limbs. Like a steady current, it flowed through her now, growing bigger as she was allowed to rest. Without its constant use, the heat had collected in the empty basin of her soul, her Aura tending to the injuries she’d denied relief for so long. 

But despite her own awareness, she still couldn’t feel Glynda. 

_ “Glyn.” _ Her voice was small, almost unrecognizable even to her own ears. “How?”

Monosyllablics seemed to be all she was capable of. 

Gynda struggled with even those. She shook her head, the movement disturbing some of Cinder’s hair.

Cinder lifted her face from the crook of Glynda’s neck. Dirt and blood streaked through with tears covered Glynda’s face. Her frown was weak, the shadows beneath her eyes dark enough to be mistaken for bruises. Cinder raised her good arm, surprised that her Aura had mostly healed the breaks in her hand. The other arm only twitched.

Cradling her cheek, Cinder searched Glynda’s eyes for some kind of answer, but found only a cold detachment. Even with her hands behind Cinder’s back, Cinder could tell she wasn’t spinning her ring anymore.

“Glyn,” Cinder murmured. If  _ her _ head was full of white noise, how deep in her void was Glynda? Too deep to even hear her? “Glyn.  _ Glyn.” _

It was too close to being alone, and her voice fractured as she searched for some kind of confirmation that Glynda was truly here. The threat of more tears burned at her eyes, but Cinder doubted she had any more to cry.

After a moment, Glynda turned into Cinder’s palm, bringing her own hand up to cover Cinder’s. “I’m here.” 

A sigh of relief. Fingers shaky with the strain of recent healing, she brushed her thumb across Glynda’s cheek. The reaction was minute, but there was an unmistakable gratitude in Glynda’s eyes. To be touched. To be reminded she was really here.

“I’m sorry.” Cinder didn’t have the words to make it real. Her head bowed forward, forehead resting against Glynda’s. “I’m  _ so _ sorry.”

Glynda only barely seemed to register it. “I know. I’m alive.”

If only words could scrub the memory of her lying there motionless and bleeding out. If only words could take it back. Sitting here with her, holding her, it helped, but death still haunted Cinder every time she closed her eyes.

“Sorry,” Glynda said after a long period of stillness. 

“You’re here,” Cinder whispered. “What are  _ you _ sorry for?”

“I wanted to save her.”

In Cinder’s mind, she could still see her mother’s face. She blinked it away.

Wanted to  _ save _ her? The person who had killed her? The person who had hunted her again and again? Who had hated so deeply and so long that not even losing her daughter could persuade her to forget the grudge? 

Cinder’s voice cracked.  _ “Why?” _

Glynda was a blank slate, nothing but truth to her. “So this wouldn’t happen.”

For a moment, Cinder didn’t understand. Then Glynda touched her cheek. Cinder’s tears had dried already, but the trails they’d left through the crust of grime and blood remained, disturbed by Glynda’s gentle caress. Even in her void, there was undeniable care to her. 

After everything Lamia had done, Glynda had still wanted to save her to spare Cinder the pain of losing her. 

Cinder felt starved of oxygen. Like the simple statement had filled the chamber so full there was air left to breathe. To die and come back, not for retribution, but to protect Cinder. No matter how long she lived, Cinder felt she’d never be able to repay her.

Contrary to her prior belief, new tears did form at the corners of her eyes. Her voice shrunk to a whisper. “What  _ happened _ to you?” 

Green eyes drifted to something behind Cinder, and Cinder felt her throat clench. “We should go.”

_ I’ll tell you on the way _ seemed implicit, and Cinder nodded.

There was a long moment of pause. Then, slowly, like every move was the first she’d ever made, Glynda began to rise. Her knees pulled up, and Cinder was forced to do the same. Like one being steadily dividing into two, they gathered themselves from one another. Glynda grasped Cinder’s shoulders, but Cinder could only raise one of her arms to do the same. 

Gradually they rose, supporting one another’s weight.

Mercifully, neither of them preferred to linger.

Stumbling over bones and fissures, they steadied each other as best they could. Each step felt futile, like Cinder could turn back and that small, sickly body would still be right there. Even so, reality dictated they move. Dictated time pass. They marched silently by the pool of red blood where Glynda had lay toward the chamber’s archway. 

On the way, Glynda told Cinder a story so fantastical it seemed almost a spun fairytale—about the Witches she had seen, and the choice to return with what little strength her soul still had. Glynda’s voice was stronger than her stride, and Cinder found silent nodding more comforting than trying to contribute.

Healed through… Through the infinite power of the Witch Soul. Such a thing didn’t even seem possible, but Cinder knew better than most that Witches had done incredible things before, the font of their strength nestled in their hollow chests.

Yet even so, as they walked, Cinder noticed that Glynda was struggling even more than her—she moved like she was about to drop dead again, breath shallow and labored, exertion and pain drawn across her features with every move.

The wounds left on her were shallow and superficial. Nothing more than small scabs where once there had been deep punctures. Though she claimed to be healed, she looked like she was about to collapse. Alarm flashed through Cinder, imagining everything from internal bleeding to organ failure, from shock to blood loss. She tightened her arm around Glynda, holding her up as best as she could.

She worked her vocal chords soundlessly for a moment. Cleared her throat. Tried again. “Glynda. You need to heal. Use your Aura.”

Even to herself, Cinder’s voice sounded ragged and broken.

Beneath the glowing archway, Glynda stopped, turned to look at her head on. There was a weird glaze over her eyes, clarity glossy with tears of exhaustion. She smiled faintly, and it was a weird smile that Cinder couldn’t quite place. 

Without a hint of inflection, she said, “I can’t.”

Her weight shifted, growing heavier against Cinder.

“What do you mean?” Cinder licked her lips, glancing to the side before meeting Glynda’s unusually bright stare. “Are you out of Aura? Let me—“

“I can’t use it,” Glynda said. “It’s gone.”

“Let me help.” Cinder’s Aura had been steadily growing inside her, and she reached for Glynda’s wrist, pressing skin to skin to facilitate the transfer.

Glynda smiled. Cinder recognized some part of it as resigned. Another part, sad, bitter maybe. All of it tired.

Cinder tried to give Glynda some of her Aura, to feed the starving soul inside her, and found—

_ Emptiness. _

There was absolutely nothing. Not the shallow hunger of empty Aura pools, blood thin with the lack of magic. There was no desperation sucking at Cinder’s Aura, demanding more, more, more—there was just an emptiness where Glynda’s Aura should reside.

Cinder blinked hard, disbelieving. Again, she realized she couldn’t actually feel Glynda’s presence at all. Her Aura had always been so large, so noticeable. It was gone. Cinder couldn’t find it. Her fingers were digging into Glynda’s wrist as they stood there. Her lips quivered.

Glynda’s smile finally faded, but she didn’t look away. “I can’t, Cinder. It’s gone.”

Glynda’s touch was the only thing she wanted to feel, but even that was taken from her as Glynda broke her weak grip to examine her own wrist. Beneath her marred skin, barely visible, a faint one-two pulse beat, undeniably alive. “I think…I broke it. The Witch soul. My soul. I can't use my Aura anymore.”

“No,” Cinder said, as if arguing would somehow stir Glynda’s Aura back to life.  _ “Glynda. _ There’s no way…”

Only Glynda could manage to  _ shrug _ with so much sadness, expressive in every minute detail. “I’m back.”

A poor trade for a Witch.

A Witch without Aura—declawed, in the deepest sense, missing the integral piece that had allowed her to get this far. She had sacrificed the only thing that had let her survive; the only thing that had visibly tied her to her soul-bound ancestry.

For Glynda, who had always sought a connection with her kind, that loss must have been worse than anything Lamia had done to her.

If Glynda was thinking of that same thing, she didn’t say so. She merely looked on ahead in silence, with one arm around Cinder and the other one hanging limply at her side. Her thumb had started working the ring Cinder had given her again, slow, like she was trying to coax herself into it.

Cinder’s mouth tightened, the words all dying on her tongue. What could she say?  _ Sorry _ didn’t begin to cover it, and she was sure any other placations would only remind her of what she’d lost. 

The only thing Cinder could come up with was: “...Thank you, Glynda. I love you.”

Glynda nodded. “I love you too.”

The winding pathway back to the surface extended before them, glowing orange with illumination. 

They both paused. Where would they go? Where  _ could _ they go?

She didn’t know what they could do now, not when the endless wastelands of Atlas waited for them above. They had barely made it, and that was only because of Glynda. How could they ever hope to make it back? Cinder didn’t know. Couldn’t think that far. She only knew that eventually they would have to leave. Just being  _ near _ the room where Lamia had breathed her last was like torture, but she breathed deep and tried to keep a level head. 

They had supplies. They could  _ rest.  _

“Sit down,” Cinder said, limping with Glynda toward the cavern’s wall and setting her against it.

Glynda obeyed without a word of complaint, setting her back to the stone and sliding down to the ground. She tipped her head back, closing her eyes. Her ring still twirled around her finger. 

Cinder spared a moment to watch her.

Glynda was alive. Glynda was  _ here. _ Glynda had given everything to come back, and now it was up to Cinder to figure out the rest. Determined not to let her down, she spotted the pile of clothes in the distance and made a beeline for it.

There was still food and water in the bag. Rations for… Two days? Maybe more, maybe less. Cinder found it almost impossible to focus on the calculations, but she bent by their things, trying to collect them with only one hand. 

Her other arm was barely responsive. She could bend it at the elbow somewhat, but she couldn’t make a full fist. Whatever damage she’d done pushing her body too far was not healing right. 

Stuffing their discarded gear under her good arm, she was about to turn when she spotted the Scroll Winter had given them, the screen illuminated faintly against the stone. It hadn’t entered its battery cycle? Cinder reached for it, her heart skipping a beat at what was displayed. 

Instead of the bleak note Glynda had left for her, Cinder found the words  _ Incoming Transmission _ flashing bright.

Their gear dropped to the ground as she straightened suddenly, her good hand shaking so bad she almost couldn’t accept the transmission. Raising it to her ear, she held her breath, waiting.

“—is someone there? Answer me,  _ please—” _

“Winter,” Cinder breathed. Her voice broke, and from the corner of her eye, Cinder saw Glynda snap to attention. Winter was  _ alive. _ “Can you hear me?”

A moment of stunned silence was brushed aside by halfhearted professionalism. “Loud and clear, Cinder.” Relief bled through into Winter’s wavering voice, finally cracking it on the last word. “Where—where have you  _ been? _ Is Glynda with you? We’ve been searching for you for  _ hours _ —”

“Glynda is here,” Cinder said. 

Climbing to her feet with a huff of exertion, Glynda hurried toward her. Swaying closer, Cinder leaned into Glynda, taking much needed support as the world seemed to spin around her. Glynda wrapped her arm around Cinder’s shoulders, holding her. Her breath tickled the top of Cinder’s head, and Cinder returned the embrace as best she could. 

“The blizzard, and—and  _ wherever you are _ —w-we couldn’t find your signal anywhere. We’ve been searching northwards, but—”

“We had to keep going,” Cinder said, the side of her face pressed into Glynda’s chest. She blinked slowly. “We—we made it all the way.”

“All the way? To—to your mother’s location? You’re both alright? Have you engaged her?”

Winter was beginning to sound frantic once more. Cinder wanted to reassure her, but she wasn’t sure what to say. Her fingers tightened weakly in the back of Glynda’s shirt, and she managed,  “We’re alive.”

A short pause followed. Knowing, perhaps. 

“The blizzard has cleared, and we’re centering in on your location. I see you on our—no, not like that, get out of the way, I’ll do it—” There was the muffled sound of movement and a thin voice on the other side of the line, one that sounded very much like a hounded subordinate. “I’ve got you. Give us—give us eighteen minutes. Can you last that long?”

Cinder hesitated. Saying it, acknowledging it—it threatened to bring it all crashing back down upon her. Still, Winter had to know they weren’t dying in her absence. Steadying her voice as much as possible, Cinder told her, “It’s already over.”

Glynda gave her a squeeze, one Cinder returned. 

“I see,” Winter was quieter now. “I—we’ll be there soon. Just hang on.”

Cutting the line, Cinder stared down at the Scroll. The burst of relief pulled her from the depths of despair so quickly it instilled a sense of emotional vertigo, like she wasn’t fully present, clashing of extremes clouding the world in a surreal haze.

“She’s coming to get us,” she heard herself say. 

Glynda nodded. “We need to get to the surface.”

Cinder agreed, but disentangling from Glynda was the last thing she wanted to do. It was Glynda who had to force the issue, delicately pulling their limbs apart. 

As though in a haze, Cinder bent to gather the clothing they’d discarded. She could barely remember which outfit was hers and which was Glynda’s, but after some struggling, they were bundled up in their respective gear again. 

After righting themselves, they turned and looked at one another. Glynda reached for Cinder’s hand, and Cinder interlocked their fingers. 

“We’re getting out of here,” Cinder said, needing to hear it for herself. 

“Yeah.” 

Hand in hand, they began to walk, slipping into the darkness of the upper levels of the cave, but not before Cinder spared one, final glance at the bright archway which led to the open chamber. 

Her mother was gone. Wasn’t coming back. 

Grief roiled up inside her one last time before vanishing like a candle’s flame, the smoke filling her lungs before being exhaled all at once.

She walked. 

It felt as though a lifetime had passed. Cinder couldn’t tell if exhaustion was drawing time out to its breaking point, or if she was simply misremembering the depth of the cave from the last time she was here. They walked until she could barely stand, and still there was no end in sight. 

After minutes of travel, they stopped for Glynda. Even her longer strides didn’t help her keep up, and Cinder offered her arm instead, letting her lean against her despite her own weariness. 

Praying for a miracle, Cinder even tried to boost Glynda’s Aura again, feeling that same non-reaction as before. Glynda didn’t even seem to notice she’d done it, catching her breath and then promising she would make it. 

Even with Aura, Cinder was beginning to doubt she would make it. Leaning on one another, they somehow managed to keep one another going, their labored breaths echoing in the darkness.

A gust of cold air was the first indication they were close. Small flecks of snow drifted through the air. Cinder tried to illuminate the passage with the gentle glow of her own skin, but no matter how much she thought of Emerald and Mercury, no matter how much she focused on the feel of Glynda’s hand in her own, she couldn’t make the light come.

Even so, ahead of them, she spotted a glimmer of white. The edges of the cavern’s exit was aglow with pale moonbeams. 

“We made it,” Cinder whispered. 

In the faint light, Cinder thought she even saw Glynda smile. 

They emerged into an icy wasteland, the same Cinder recalled from brief flashes of consciousness before. The blizzard had indeed begun to slow, but the winds still whipped at the newly fallen snow, loose flakes spiraling through the night air. The cold cut right through the layers of her clothes, and suddenly struck with concern, she tried to stoke what little Aura she had to keep Glynda warm. 

Cinder dug for the Scroll, trying to find some indication Winter was truly on her way, but Glynda stared up at the sky, transfixed. 

“The moon,” she mouthed, so quiet Cinder barely heard her. 

Gaze pulled skyward, Cinder froze, eyes widening at what she saw. 

Above them, the moon hung low and swollen, the clouds parted now that the blizzard was passing. But—it wasn’t the moon which had adorned the sky before they’d entered the cave. 

A thousand fragments dotted the sky like constellations pulled close. Nothing solid remained. Nothing whole remained. As if obliterated by something divine and infinitely powerful, the moon had shattered, the array of its pieces only hinting at the shape it had once held. 

Where before it had only been fractured, some chunks coming loose, now it was shattered, completely broken into debris and moondust. 

“What—what  _ happened?”  _

Cinder’s question escaped in clouds of white, but Glynda heard it all the same. Turning away from the moon, she looked at Cinder, smiling a similarly broken smile. 

“That was me,” Glynda said. “When I broke my soul to come back. The moon—the Witch soul—they’re like mirrors of one another.”

Cinder’s own words from so long ago flashed through her mind:  _ Finally, there was but one Witch left, and when she saw humans would be left alone with their darkness, she raised her soul into the sky and became their light, ensuring even in the blackest night, humanity would know they were not alone. _

A shudder of disbelief crawled up her spine. It seemed impossible. She’d thought it was impossible, had always believed that part of the stories had been embellished. But…

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. Every piece was drenched in light, the dust flecked between them glittering like stars. Looking upon it now, it even seemed brighter than before, the silver halo surrounding it absolutely gorgeous. “Even broken.” 

Consideration slowly formed on Glynda’s face, her angular features opening with reserved wonder. The hand that was not holding Cinder’s drifted to her chest. “Yeah. It is.”

A flash of artificial light cut through the moon’s radiance, spotlights carving pieces from the night sky. Both Glynda and Cinder flinched away, the low hum of an airship growing louder and louder. Cinder held their intertwined hands up to the light, shading her eyes and searching for the shape she knew had to be emerging from the darkness. 

Her heart jumped when she finally saw it, among a flock of at least a dozen more: smooth-edged and massive, an airship was descending before them, landing struts extending as it touched down. 

As they started towards it, the hull’s door hissed, the hydraulics easing down a walkway in welcome—and there, standing silhouetted against the illuminated inside, was Winter. A half dozen other soldiers attended her, but she was down the walkway before it had even fully opened, her coattails billowing with the wind as she rushed through the snow to meet them. 

“You’re alive!” Decorum abandoned, Winter pulled them both into a one-armed hug, so tight Cinder thought she was angry until she pulled back and revealed the tearful grin on her face. “I thought you—that I’d—damn it, I’m so relieved to see you both.”

Stunned to silence by such an open display, both Cinder and Glynda could only flounder beneath Winter’s beaming joy. 

As Winter wiped at her eyes and looked them over, Cinder watched her smile begin to fade. Though the worst of it was hidden beneath layers of cold weather gear, the two of them couldn’t have been a pretty sight. Skin singed with smoke and ash. Blood—red and black—spattered across their pants and shoes, stuck beneath their nails. Overwhelming fatigue sucking at their marrow. Dead, red-dimmed eyes. 

Cinder imagined how bad they must look to someone else. Ragged. Beaten. Definitely pitiful. 

Winter’s brow furrowed, her lips thinning. She’d never been good at questions, but the one brewing on her lips had Cinder sagging lower and averting her eyes like a kicked dog. 

“Is she—”

“Specialist Winter!” The first of the accompanying soldiers was upon them, carefully setting a hand between Winter’s shoulderblades. Cinder breathed relief as Winter’s gaze was torn away. “Please, return to the med-bay. You were given  _ orders _ not to—”

“I’m fine!” In a moment, Winter’s expression sharpened into a warning, and the soldier wisely removed their hand, shrinking back. Winter took a deep breath as the others arrived as well, but instead of returning to the topic, she shot pointed looks at both of them, sympathy softening her tone. “...We’re returning to the ship now. All of us.”

With a lingering look over her shoulder that seemed to convey a desire to say more, she reluctantly turned back toward the ship, addressing her soldiers with a slew of things which needed to be prepared for their return flight. 

Glynda glanced at Cinder and Cinder returned the look of creeping understanding:  _ This was it. It was over. _

“—Glynda, Cinder. Please follow me. There are medics waiting for you onboard, and I want you both in the med-bay immediately. You’re in no condition to be walking around.” The soldier which had spoken earlier coughed into their hand, but said nothing. Winter didn’t even notice. “Leave the rest to me. We’re going home.”

They did as they were told, trailing behind the entourage and scaling the ramp to the ship. 

_ “Home,” _ Cinder repeated as a gust of hot air rolled from the open hull. From the corner of her eye, she could see Glynda’s expression matched her own: uncertainty. “I’m not sure where to begin…”

‘Home’ felt far off. Impossible. 

Glynda mulled it over for a moment, hesitating at the threshold of the ship. The moon hung somewhere above them, faithful in its light no matter the tragedies that unfolded beneath it. Slowly, Glynda pulled Cinder’s hand to her mouth, kissing the spent ring on her finger. 

Adoration sparkled in her eyes, even if the rest of her looked gutted.

“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ENDING TUNES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> [HERE!!!!!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OefwRG8Q5Qw) and [HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HX5eot1MbzU)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey this is for everyone who waited patiently and encouraged us over this last year. but most importantly, its for US.
> 
> (its long, take breaks and stay hydrated fam)

“I can’t be what you need me to be,” Cinder said, her hands clenching into fists. “I’m only human.”

Though the dragon’s back was to Glynda, even she could hear the sincerity dripping from every word:  **“You have no faults, Cinder. You are perfect. Let her go. You toiled all your life for this. We can still win—we can still save our family.”**

Cinder’s lips trembled, and Glynda’s heart did too.  _ “Mother.” _

It was a plea, but for what, Glynda didn’t know. Her voice cracked, and her eyes darted to Glynda.

Their eye contact no longer felt safe. It was the break in Cinder’s voice that did it—it was the insecurity in her body, the way she floundered for answers, tears beading in her eyelashes and evaporating in the heat. Lamia felt it too, and scrambled to her feet, backing away from Cinder as if she could escape this turmoil by putting distance between herself and her daughter.

Glynda felt rooted in place where she stood; her body numb from the beating it had received, her mind numb from the ever-encroaching void. Her arms were full of lead, dead and limp from the hollow carcass called her torso, and she felt the thorns curling around her ribs from the inside, graveyard roses blooming madly where human flesh once was.

The dragon tried once more:  **“We could be happy. Give her up. Please, Daughter. I need you.”**

Cinder looked as if she had been struck.

A whisper slithered through her thoughts, slippery as a serpent: the sheer power afforded to Cinder by the world’s core would have flames licking Glynda’s bones before she had a chance to recover. It would boil her blood, reducing everything she was to ash, hotter than any distant sun. The boiler of Remnant’s heart would supply Cinder an endless basin of power, and with it, she could obliterate Glynda to less than dust.

She had defeated Glynda before, in Vacuo, using the desert sun. Here, at the world’s core, the Witch stood no chance.

Glynda saw in Cinder’s eyes that she, too, realized this.

It was hopeless for either of them to struggle against this. Coming here had been a mistake. They had never had a chance to beat Lamia. All she could do now was cut her losses.

It was logical, drawing a clean conclusion, A to B: Cinder couldn’t beat Lamia. But she could beat Glynda.

Glynda licked her lips nervously, watching Cinder, waiting. She felt a thousand needle-points across her skin, fear drilling deep through every pore.

The machine.

Its presence filled the room. It was the end that awaited Glynda—and the beginning of a new age for Grimm. It was the keystone upon which Lamia had built her life, her hopes, her future. It was the tomb in which Glynda would lie forever.

It was her or the machine. Cinder’s eyes darted between them. Flames slowly rose, licking along her arms, heat rolling off her in waves.

Finally, after every alternative had been expended, she had to choose.

Cinder breathed deep of the scorching air, and Glynda could see how it nourished the fire within her. Now. It would be now. She would seize her own fate and make a decision.

Her eyes gleamed with a searing intensity, just like Lamia’s.

Fire stripped Glynda of breath—it felt like even the air inside her lungs was burning. These were aches she remembered from Vacuo; her skin boiling into blisters instantly, her Aura too drained to protect her. She was blown aside and hit the cavern wall with a crack, stars blitzing before her eyes—but the impact was less painful than the fire, a mercy of hard stone.

She felt Cinder’s claws seize about her neck, pulling her onto her knees, making her look into the face she had trusted too much. There was no conflict left in Cinder’s gold eyes. There was mirth, and triumph, and, above all, an empty, predatory hunger. She had made her choice, and she had not chosen Glynda.

The room exploded into blinding light, and Glynda knew: she had toyed with a beast, and put too much trust in a wild animal. There was always a dragon, and there was always a Witch. Cinder was Grimm, and she hunted Witches.

Glynda was in a haze as Cinder dragged her by the neck, burnt and beaten, to the center of the room. The dragon and her mother would wet their machine with Glynda’s blood, use her as a living battery for eternity—they would not have the mercy to simply let her die. Hoisted up and tossed onto the bed of nails, Glynda felt a scream rip from her throat as her body weight pushed hundreds of needles into her back. The blood ran gladly, and she felt her exhausted Aura fighting to repair her body, only to be sucked from her, stolen.

The cage like ribs closed around her, restraining her arms, pushing her firmly onto the needle-bed. Her Aura sang with the exertion, her vision blurring as she screamed herself hoarse, and Lamia was singing Cinder’s praises for it all—

It was hot. 

Glynda’s eyes snapped open. Her hair clung to her forehead and neck, sticky with sweat, and her chest heaved with every panicked breath. It was dark.

She lay on her back, like a corpse, staring into the impenetrable darkness. Once, twice, she swallowed, trying to collect herself.

The blanket over her seemed heavy as lead, crushing her down into the mattress. She counted her breaths, grappling with her own emotions for some semblance of calm.

A dream. It had been a dream. It had only been a dream.

It had only been another repeat of the same dream.

Glynda reached out in the darkness, and right next to herself she found Cinder, curled up and nestled in the space between Glynda and the wall. Glynda’s hand found her wrist. Held on tight. She felt Cinder’s pulse point, a steady drum. She felt her own heart’s frantic rhythm.

“Glynda.” Cinder’s voice was soft. “It’s okay, love. I’m here.”

Those words were all Glynda could have asked for, her breathing still coming fast and shallow. She replayed them in her head, bolstered them with the weight of Cinder’s hand on her hip. This was real. This was the choice Cinder had made.

Exhaling sharply, Glynda shifted towards Cinder until she could find her collarbone with her face, her arms encircling Cinder’s waist. Swallowing past the dryness in her mouth, Glynda asked, “How long have you been up?”

“A while.” There were no talons adorning the ends of Cinder’s fingers as she smoothed blonde hair back into place. “You know I’m a light sleeper.”

Most criminals were, as Cinder had so often told her. In that regard, they truly were opposites. While it took her very worst nightmare to wake Glynda, Cinder would stir at the slightest whimper—and so she was usually conscious by the time Glynda startled herself awake. That Glynda could find her conscious and alive was a blessing. To find her soft and human was something more.

“Was it the same one again?” Cinder asked lightly. 

“Yeah.” The rhythm of Cinder’s fingers through her hair broke for just a moment before she resumed. “The machine.”

It was a merciful summary, one that excluded Cinder or her mother’s parts in the nightmare. Still, Cinder would know exactly what that dream entailed. 

In lieu of words, Glynda felt a kiss pressed to the crown of her head as Cinder pulled her into a tight embrace. Against her cheek, Glynda felt the chain of Cinder’s necklace, the jade pendant caught somewhere between them. 

“We’ve got a big day today,” Cinder said. “I should have woken you up.”

Glynda’s hollow laughter was muffled into Cinder’s shoulder, her smile grim. “I can’t promise that wouldn’t have gotten you another bloody nose.”

“...Or maybe not.”

It had only taken once for them to learn that Glynda’s fight or flight reflex hinged  _ heavily _ towards fight while half-asleep. Though Cinder’s Aura had soothed away the damage and Glynda’s fist had only been a little bruised, it wasn't an experience they were eager to repeat.

(And though Glynda hadn't stopped apologizing for almost a week, Cinder had vowed that would be the last good deed she ever attempted.)

“There’s still some time before we need to be up,” Cinder said, changing the subject. “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep any more?”

Snuggling closer was impossible, but Glynda did intertwine their legs, hooking her calf behind one of Cinder’s ankles. “Yeah. I’ll be okay,” Glynda told her, tucking her face up into Cinder’s neck. “As long as you’re here when I wake up, I’ll be okay.”

“I will be.” There was a chord of affection in her whisper, plucked just so. “Always.”

Though it was dark in the bedroom and Glynda’s glasses were far out of reach, she could make out the fuzzy light that now slowly seeped from Cinder—that glow deep beneath her skin, a comforting lantern on a dark sea. Safe in the crook of her neck, Glynda breathed deep of the forest-fire scent that always clung to her.

No blood. No hellfire. No Dust. It was the smell of sanctuary, a warm fire to rest by. It was home _. _

Slowly, the fear melted from Glynda. With every synchronized breath they took, the tension in her muscle unwound ever so slightly. She closed her eyes, and the warm glow of Cinder’s skin just behind her eyelids quieted her creeping fears, allowing sleep to retake her at last.

*

Morning came sooner than expected, the light of a new day filtering in steadily, falling in straight lines across the floor and bed until it reached Glynda herself. Blinking awake, the awareness of herself came slowly, Glynda squinting up at the ceiling for some time. 

Except for the single, rectangular panel of clear glass on the slanted portion of the ceiling, the room was cast in a gloom. From that single window into the outside, Glynda could see the golden rays of light filtering in, indicating that the morning was already trudging into an early afternoon. 

Glynda stifled a yawn. She had a feeling she’d slept later than she’d meant to—but really, since when was that new? 

The noticeable absence at her side told Glynda that Cinder was gone, but when she turned and touched the sheets, she found them still warm. In fact, they still held the vague shape of her body, curled up against Glynda with her back to the wall. Not gone for long then. And hopefully on her way back. 

Sitting up, Glynda groped for her glasses, left on the bedside table as they always were. Once they were in place and the room was more than hazy shapes and swathes of color, Glynda picked out the clothes already draped over the chair against the far wall. 

Cinder’s clothes, by the look of them, though it wouldn’t surprise Glynda if Cinder was picking out her outfits again. The thought made her smile.

“Glynda?”

Glynda snapped to attention, finding Cinder standing in the doorway, a steaming mug in each hand. The smooth scent of coffee caressed Glynda’s senses, and a hum of appreciation rose in her throat. 

“Morning,” Glynda said. “I thought I was going to wake up next to you—”

“I warned you I was going to get coffee,” Cinder replied, cutting off Glynda’s complaint before it could take shape. “Not that I expect you to remember. You were out.”

As Cinder nudged the door closed behind her and rounded the bed, Glynda realized she was wearing more than just the shorts she’d gone to bed in last night. From her shoulders, red silk cascaded down her body, pooling at the junction of her elbows and coming to a sudden halt mid-thigh. Glynda almost didn’t notice Cinder set the mugs on the nightstand.

“I was worried I’d have to start shaking you,” Cinder said.

“I knew you’d wake me if it was time to go,” Glynda protested, her own defense half-formed. Reaching out to rub the silk hem between her thumb and forefinger, she asked, “Is this new?”

Giving a smile that would have been positively villainous had she not been lounging in sleep clothes, Cinder brushed a palm along her ribs and hip. “Just arrived this morning.”

“Feels nice,” Glynda said, daring further up from the hem, her palm sliding into place at the small of Cinder’s back. 

Cinder gave a note of approval, reaching for the small remote in the drawer of the nightstand. “And how does it look?”

“Hmm.” Not nearly as beautiful as the person wearing it. “Okay.”

Approval morphed into offense in an instant. “And here I was, going to take this slow.”

Before Glynda could piece together what  _ this _ meant, Cinder hit a button on the remote. The room’s far wall dissolved, pigments pricking away to allow the sunlight in unimpeded. Glynda winced, covering her eyes, but Cinder only laughed, basking in the light as their bedroom wall and a portion of the ceiling dissolved into glass panes, leaving only the pristine sight of the island’s distant shoreline and the forest in between. 

Glynda groaned, the sky a brilliant blue and dotted with circling gulls, the forest a deep, verdant green. The view here would never cease to amaze, but amazed was not how Glynda wanted to feel only minutes into being awake. 

_ “Ugh,” _ Glynda grumbled.

“Don’t  _ ugh _ me. These panels are the cutting edge of adaptive color technology and—” 

The rest was lost as Glynda blindly reached for Cinder and yanked her down by the robe. Cinder came with only the barest hints of protest, a quiet yelp that was quickly extinguished the moment she landed half-sprawled across Glynda’s lap. 

Burying her face in Cinder’s shoulder and wrapping her arms around her waist, Glynda said, “You’re the worst.”

“Flatterer,” Cinder remarked, stretching against Glynda’s hold to reach her mug on the nightstand. Surprisingly, when she returned, it was with both cups in hand. “Now drink up. We’re on a schedule today.”

Glynda squinted from the slope of Cinder’s shoulder. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I got a lot done this morning. Some invoices, Roman’s final transfer—”

“Your new robe.”

“—My new robe.” Cinder smiled. “Coffee.”

Glynda took that as the encouragement it was, finally taking her mug from Cinder and bringing it to her lips for a delicate sip. Unsurprisingly, Cinder enjoyed the finer things in all aspects of life—coffee included. Her brews were a far cry from the break lounge coffee back at Beacon, taken black and hardly tasted in between classes and long hours grading.

“Sounds like you’ve got everything planned out,” Glynda commented, her eyes darting over to the clothes already set out in the chair. “How long have you been up?”

“A while,” Cinder responded, taking a sip of her coffee. 

Glynda raised a brow. “Did you sleep any more last night?”

“A little,” Cinder said, as noncommittal as before. “Here and there.”

Glynda frowned. Their nightmares chased each other some nights, snapping at the tail end of the other’s like two snakes trying to consume one another. 

And Glynda knew: Cinder’s nightmares were no kinder than her own. 

It had taken time for her to say as much. In fact, after they’d returned, something in Cinder had snapped back into place, making her as recalcitrant as when they’d first started traveling together. It had become so normal for Glynda to see her with her emotions on her sleeve that finding her distant had almost been like sharing a home with a stranger. Like a wound which had bled and bled and bled, she’d exhausted herself on openness, retreating into things unsaid once more. 

But that hadn’t lasted. It couldn’t—not when Cinder woke just as many nights as Glynda did, curling up against her until Glynda eventually roused as well. 

Their dreams—Glynda found—were strikingly similar. 

Dreams of killing one another. Of watching each other die. Cinder dreamed of Glynda never returning from death. She dreamed of being trapped inside a body that was not her own. Of flaying Glynda with her own hands and being helpless to do anything but watch, a spectator in her own head.

The worst dreams, she said, were the ones where her pleas were heard. Where her mother relented. Where no one had to die. 

Glynda could always tell when she’d had that dream. Those were the nights when the loss of her mother burned fresh and new, like a half-healed wound ripped open. When Cinder’s failure had her clinging to Glynda well into the night, overwhelming that persistent instinct to hold her hurt close to her chest.

“Anyway.” Perhaps sensing the track Glynda’s thoughts had taken, Cinder cleared her throat. “Did you hear back from Winter? You never told me.”

Evidently, Cinder didn’t want to linger on nightmares today.

“Yeah. She got back to me last night.” In an imitation of Winter’s voice, Glynda said: “I wouldn’t miss it for the  _ world.” _

“That didn’t sound anything like her,” Cinder said, concealing a smile against the brim of her mug. Pitching her voice for maximum effect, Cinder sighed, “It’s hard being the only one in this relationship with a decent sense of humor.”

_ “Winter _ thinks I'm funny.”

Cinder dropped the tone, returning to her drink. “Winter is  _ flirting _ with you.”

The sudden sputter halfway through another sip of coffee sent droplets of it up onto Glynda’s glasses. Coloring, she quickly wiped them away and said, “She’s not—she could just be, you know, being  _ nice. _ ”

“Ah, but you forget. Winter Schnee doesn't do  _ nice. _ Giving a regular compliment is basically second base according to the Schnee Scale.” Cinder fluttered her eyelashes Glynda’s way. “Face it. We're irresistible.”

“She doesn't laugh at  _ your  _ jokes,” Glynda said, setting aside her mug. With a gentle urging, she encouraged Cinder to turn toward her, straddling her. Like this, Glynda could appreciate the part of that silk robe, the way it bared the spot between Cinder’s breasts where her necklace hung. “Only mine.”

“Oh, excuse me.” Cinder set her drink on the nightstand as well, just seconds before the little space between them evaporated and Glynda pressed their foreheads together, humming happily. “And here I thought we were in this together!”

“I’m just saying, if the goal here is to seduce her into stealing away to an island mansion with us—”

“Oh, is that what we were doing? I didn’t realize you were so on board with this.”

“—Then I’m definitely the only one pulling my weight here. She hasn’t thought you were funny since—”

“Since I so charmingly ruined her life?” 

Like a ripple disturbing calm waters, the single, rueful note in Cinder’s tone made the whole charade fall apart. All at once, Glynda realized their jokes had tread into uncomfortable territory, Cinder’s smile too wide to be anything but facetious. 

Trying to salvage the moment, Glynda smiled her most endearing crooked smile. “On the Fall Scale, ruining someone's life is basically second base.”

For a moment, Cinder’s face was a blank. Then, in measures, her lips curled upward. “Okay, it doesn't count if you just steal my jokes.”

Glynda laughed and kissed her, muffling out any further complaints regarding her humor. Their fingers laced together, gripping each other's hands tight, grounding one another.

When they separated, it was with no shortage of longing looks and idle touches. Cinder draped her arms around Glynda’s shoulders, and Glynda set her cheek to Cinder’s sternum. For a long moment, they stayed just like that, Cinder with her chin on Glynda’s head, Glynda feeling every breath Cinder took. 

Here, now, Glynda felt the stirrings of something in her chest. A fondness that couldn’t be swallowed before it formed. 

“I love you,” she said. 

Above her, Cinder let out a soft, content sigh. “As cute as that is, you are still expecting guests.” Right… Oz was probably already on his way, which meant— “Ozpin is supposed to be here in about, I'd say, half an hour?”

“Wh—” Glynda barely had time to process that before Cinder was already rolling off of her, expecting the panicked leap from bed that came next. On her feet and already making a beeline for the bathroom, Glynda cursed, “You know he's always early! Cinder!”

Throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, Cinder reached for her mug again, luxuriating in the sun. As Glynda yanked her towel off the edge of the bathroom door and closed it behind her, she heard Cinder’s wicked tone follow her in: “Love you too, Glynda.”

*

True to form, Ozpin was at the door ten minutes earlier than they’d arranged. 

When Glynda opened the door, her long hair still damp from her shower, wearing the dark skirt and white blouse Cinder had picked out for her, she found him waiting there for her. He was bright-eyed and smiling as radiantly as if serendipity had guided him to her front stoop, their meeting one of fortunate chance rather than prior agreement. 

In his tired old suit, with his hands laid atop his cane, he was every inch Beacon’s headmaster. More than that though, he was her best friend, and the strong hug she pulled him into left no doubts about that. 

Laughing, he said, “It’s good to see you too, Glynda.”

“Oz.” A precious, familiar feeling welled up within her at the sight of him, threatening to spill over with every word. “I’ve missed you.”

Returning the tightness of her embrace, he said, “If only there were more chances to visit. Though I can’t fault you for not wanting to leave. An island retreat with your beloved—it’s all rather romantic.”

Hearing it from Oz was enough to call a slight blush to Glynda’s pale cheeks. Slipping out of the hug, she asked, “The—um—walk wasn’t too bad on your leg was it?”

“Oh no. In fact, I’m rather impressed with all of this—” Waving one hand in a general gesture towards the island as a whole, pausing for effect so that the distant bird calls could reach them. Then, he cast a pointed look behind Glynda, saying, “Though I wouldn’t mind a chance to rest.”

Glynda scrambled to get out of his way, allowing him in and closing the door behind him. 

While she fiddled with the lock—as if there was any need for one in such a secluded place—she heard Oz say, “Ah, Miss Fall. A pleasure.”

“Ozpin.”

Not as stiff as last time, but Glynda was beginning to suspect Cinder would never truly lose that edge of hesitation, like she expected every time to be greeted by accusations.

Regardless, Oz teetered towards her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders in a very polite greeting. Considering he was the one hugging an internationally-recognized villain, it was amazing that Cinder still managed to be the more uncomfortable of the two. 

“You look well,” Oz said, parting neatly from her and casting an appraising look over the black, sleeveless dress she wore—perfect for the island’s climate—and then up to her hair, cropped short around her jawline. “Retirement suits you.”

Cinder ran a hand through her hair, passing over one of the protruding, blunt tips of her horns. “Retirement is a generous way to put it.”

“I suppose it is too much to hope you spend all your time here, with Glynda, rather than terrorizing the world.” 

Though Oz’s tone was light, he couldn’t have been entirely joking. If Cinder minded, she sure didn’t show it, actually looking a little amused that Ozpin thought so.

“She’s not too bad,” Glynda chipped in, coming to stand by his shoulder. “Her kids do most of the terrorizing these days, actually.”

Cinder actually beamed. “Nothing too ambitious, but they’re on their way.”

“Are they here as well?” Ozpin asked, glancing around the living room. “I was hoping to catch them…”

“Not since our last attempt at a family dinner,” Glynda said. At Ozpin’s questioning look, Glynda explained, “They took off at midnight with no goodbyes—just a note that said this was the last straw, and if Cinder needed them, they’d be in Mistral.”

“I told you from the start: we’re not that kind of family. Besides, what you  _ cooked _ —” supplemented with heavy air quotes “—was completely inedible. We had to put a frozen pizza in the oven.”

Looking directly at Cinder, Glynda deadpanned: “No one in this family appreciates me.”

Cinder met her gaze like a challenge, chin tipped back, teeth flashing threateningly, but before she could muster any sort of response, Ozpin laughed.

“I see!” He clapped Glynda on the shoulder. “Well, if possible, could you pass along a message to Emerald and Mercury? Their classmates ask after their return often and—”

Where Ozpin’s laughter was soft and warm, Cinder’s was sharp as a knife and just as likely to draw blood. With a flip of her hair, she said, “Glynda, darling.  _ You _ tell him. He never seems to believe me when  _ I _ say Emerald and Mercury would rather swallow tacks.”

While Cinder puffed out her chest, all pride, Glynda and Ozpin exchanged glances. 

“She’s absolutely insufferable, isn’t she?” Ozpin asked after a long moment. 

“Definitely,” Glynda agreed. 

That Cinder’s delight only seemed to grow came as no surprise.

“I can only hope our future defenders of peace are prepared, then,” Ozpin finally conceded, heaving a sigh that made his shoulders rise and fall like the tides. “It seems romance is our only hope against evil… Perhaps I should add it to the curriculum.”

“There’s an idea,” Glynda said, though the thought of Oz teaching  _ anyone _ a thing about romance had her smirking to herself. “I might have some recommendations for a few lessons.”

“Oh, me too,” Cinder agreed, still too smug. “Lesson one: flirting for idiots.”

Glynda smiled her way, lifting her hands to show off the many, multi-colored bandaids which adorned them. “Lesson two: what to do when your evil girlfriend becomes a doting worrier.”

“Lesson three!” Voice cracking with sudden panic, Cinder lurched forward to snatch both of Glynda’s hands and yank them out of sight. Oh, how she would hate for Ozpin to find the kits she kept all over the house in case of one of Glynda’s famous mishaps. Glynda laughed, but Cinder spoke quickly, trying to drown her out. “First aid for cocky shits who forget to be careful without an—”

“Ladies please,” Ozpin interjected, covering a polite cough with his hand lest Cinder see his grin. “You’ve convinced me—I would be far out of my depth teaching any such course.”

Though Ozpin was happy to sweep this under the rug, Cinder’s glare lingered on Glynda. Apologetic wasn’t quite the right word for the kiss Glynda pressed to her temple as Ozpin turned to continue on towards the kitchen. Grumbling, Cinder released Glynda’s hands and turned to follow.

Moving into the kitchen, they kept their conversation light while Glynda went through the intricate process of making coffee to Cinder’s standards. Over the sound of Glynda working the bean grinder, Ozpin commented on the piece of paper she’d stuck with tape to the fridge weeks ago: 

_ not to be controversial but fangs? horns? claws? sexy _

Cinder touched one of the growing stumps of her horns again and quickly changed the subject, a light flush rising to her cheeks.

At this rate, her image was going to be in tatters before the end of the visit. 

As coffee was served, the three of them continued on, catching up with what the other had been doing while pointedly avoiding the subject that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface: Lamia.

Outside their little sanctuary, the world was still abuzz with the scars of her fury. The settlements she’d attacked in Vale were still rebuilding, the survivors still grieving. More than once, the story had appeared on their news feeds, confirmation that the world was not ready to forget its close encounter. 

And it wasn’t ready to forget the people who had slain her. 

The moment they’d made it onto Winter’s ship, the message had been sent out: the dragon was dead. The world was safe. 

Ironwood himself had made the announcement mere moments afterwards, proclaiming Glynda the slayer of the dragon which had tormented Vale for a handful of devastating days. And though Cinder Fall had never been mentioned by name, the media which had met them at the landing dock when they arrived back in civilization captured feeds of her as well, she and Glynda arm in arm as they stumbled off the ship. 

The story of the dragon’s death spread, like a million rivers branching from a great sea until it seemed the entire world knew, and the two responsible for saving humanity? For putting down such a dangerous, bloodthirsty creature? Lauded until it felt possible to suffocate from it. 

For Cinder, it was celebrating matricide—applauding her for the black blood that stained her hands no matter how much she willed herself to forget. They applauded her for betrayal and for becoming a tool in her mother’s suicide. None of that felt like victory, and being praised for it set her stomach roiling. Vile. It had been vile and painful and there had not been a speck of glory in it. 

For Glynda, it was as though they were praising her death, as if the only worthy end for a life such as hers was to be brutalized on a battlefield. To sacrifice herself in someone else’s story. They did not know what they were congratulating her for. If they did, their voices would be lower, their eyes less bright. They would not cheer her on if they knew they were reinforcing what she had always quietly believed: that she was better in death than she could ever be in life, especially now, with no Aura, no claim to the lineage she’d sacrificed.

Saved the world. They had saved the world. That was a simplification. A prettier phrasing to paint over the pain of what they had endured.

Even now, sometimes there were still inquiries into where Glynda Goodwitch and the international criminal she’d been spotted with had disappeared to since their triumphant return. Ozpin took care of most of them, quietly sweeping them aside to focus on other things and encouraging the media to do the same. 

Some listened, others didn’t. In any case, Glynda was thankful for the island’s seclusion. 

The last thing she thought she could stomach was questions about what had transpired.

With a sudden realization that she’d slipped off into her own thoughts, Glynda narrowed her focus to the conversation at hand, coming in towards the tail-end of one of Ozpin’s recent stories about Ironwood.

Clearing her throat, Glynda asked mildly, “How is James?”

Ozpin finished off his third cup since arriving, skipping over the snacks which had been provided. “Oh, excitable as ever. He asks after you every so often.”

Still looking for Cinder, then. Ironwood was, if nothing else, determined. Spinning her ring absently, Glynda asked, “And?”

Smiling, Ozpin said, “Oh, you know. I tell him you’re content where you are.”

“Very,” Glynda tacked on. Beneath the table, Cinder gave Glynda’s thigh a soft squeeze. 

“I’ll pass that along the next time I see him.” Ozpin considered that for a moment. “Actually, he’s overdue a visit. I’ll have to see when he plans to visit next.”

Glynda and Cinder shared a look, one that Glynda hoped looked more amused than conspiratorial, and then pressed on, providing another pot of coffee and more packaged wafers to ease the flow of conversation, the three of them catching up and finding that, thankfully, none of them had seen much excitement over the last few months.

Peace might have been a stranger to them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t enjoying it.

*

They managed to keep Ozpin trapped in their apartment until late afternoon, as planned. He didn't seem suspicious—rather delighted that his company was wanted for several hours—but when Glynda insisted they join him on his way back to Beacon, he paused. A slight frown creased his brow, and Glynda knew he thought she was up to something.

“You have some business on campus?” he prompted, keeping his tone neutral. “It's rather late.”

Cinder finished putting on her shoes and took Glynda’s arm. She turned to Ozpin: “Glynda promised one Miss Nikos a theoretical lesson in the applications of Semblance and Aura.”

The suspicion vanished from Ozpin’s face. “Is that so? I'm sure she's looking forwards to it. Well then, let's not keep her waiting.”

Glynda locked the door, using the opportunity to send Cinder a grateful look Ozpin couldn't see. Cinder smiled and cocked her head, signaling clearly:  _ leave the lying to me. _

From there, it was a quick trip to the docks, Cinder’s airship waiting for them there. Ozpin might have enjoyed the bustle of public transit, but the island was well off any regular routes, only reachable by chartered ships and private vessels. Although he’d arrived in much the same way they received their supplies and little luxuries, leaving together meant they could take Cinder’s ship. 

The trip back was just on the line between pleasant and too long, so that the sky was beginning to give to dusk by the time they arrived. Using Ozpin’s codes allowed them to dock on-campus. Convenient, considering Glynda received a message on her Scroll from Professor Port, informing her that everything was ready. 

With no further need to stall, Glynda helped Oz down the ramp, saying, “Will you come with us?”

“To meet with Ms.Nikos?”

Glynda nodded, and Ozpin gave her a skeptical look as they reached steady ground.

“Well, I hadn’t planned on it, but—”

Cinder blew past them, strides long and brimming with purpose. “You’d trust  _ me  _ with one of your most prized students? Aw,  _ Oz _ —I’m flattered.”

With a deflated sigh, Ozpin murmured, “—but perhaps I ought to reconsider.”

Without breaking stride, Cinder led the way, knowing exactly where they’d planned to convene. Ozpin and Glynda trailed in her wake, following the clip of her heels across the pristine, academy floors, and all the while, Ozpin made curious, furtive glances in Glynda’s direction, as if asking for some sort of explanation. Glynda ignored him as politely as she could, until finally—

“Glynda.” While he hadn’t reached true concern yet, there was a distinct chord of uncertainty in his voice. “Why is Ms. Fall leading us to the ballroom?”

Glynda remembered what Cinder had said about leaving the lying to her, and then decided, if she didn’t lie, per say, it was probably fine. “That’s where we’re meeting her.”

“Ms.Nikos? For a theoretical lesson? What do you need all that space for?”

Humming a single, long note, Glynda made a gesture she hoped translated into  _ you’ll see. _ From the puzzled expression on Ozpin’s face, she had the strong suspicion it didn’t work. 

Cinder stopped at the doors to the ballroom, turning to fix the two of them with an expectant look. In particular, she focused in on Ozpin, who stopped as though relieved he would finally get filled in on the particulars of this all. Instead, Cinder said, “Ozpin. Would you?”

Over the rim of his glasses, Ozpin peered first at Cinder, who nodded towards the doors, and then, failing all else, to Glynda. She smiled at him encouragingly, and he heaved another sigh. “Well, how could I deny such a request?”

As Cinder moved out of the way, Ozpin reached for the brass handles, pushing them open, only to be met by the spark and pop of Dust sparklers and the great, dissonant chorus of:

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Before them, the ballroom had been done up in green and gold and silver, streamers and happy birthday signs hung between the chandeliers and outer columns high above. Beacon’s festive tables had been brought out, along with their best, white linen tablecloths, and they were stationed along the outskirts of the ballroom, topped with drinks and punch bowls and little snacks. 

More than that, however, the entirety of the student and faculty bodies had crowded into the ballroom, all dressed for the festivities. Even Ironwood, in his black, pressed uniform, was positioned somewhere near the back of the room, with a group of other esteemed guests.

Ozpin stood there, frozen, as the culmination of all his work over the centuries stared back at him with bright, smiling faces. Slowly, he turned to find Glynda at his shoulder. 

“Ah,” he said. “I… suppose you had a hand in this, Glynda.”

“A bit,” Glynda admitted. 

From the other side of him, Cinder remarked, “It’s been her personal project for about a month now.”

Inhaling, her took the first step further into the ballroom, looking around as if every corner had some new wonder for him to behold. An excited chatter had kicked up now that he was here, and from the crowds, Glynda saw Professor Port and Oobleck waving them over. 

“You must know there is a very strong chance today is not my actual birthday,” Ozpin said, his cane tapping against the red carpet which had been laid out to lead him towards the center of the room. 

Glynda walked at his side, while Cinder seemed to fade into their combined shadow. “No, it is.”

Ozpin hesitated in a way that made it seem like he missed a step entirely, and she took his arm, smiling. “It really is today, Oz.”

He stared at her, in that moment trusting her wholly to lead the way as they walked. “How would you…”

“Like Cinder said, it was quite the project,” Glynda admitted. “But, you know, I still have clearance to all the Beacon archives. I had to believe there was still a record from back then. And then all I had to do was find it.”

He seemed baffled—not only by the notion that those ancient records still existed at all, but by the fact that someone else had gone through the effort to unearth them. Though time itself had long since worn away his own memory, she had retrieved it from God-knows-where, in the bowels of some dust-laden paper archive. Just for this—for a party. For a gift.

“Happy birthday,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze as they reached the end of the red carpet. Ozpin made a soft tutting sound, a genuine smile tugging fiercely at his lips. 

Before them, the faculty waited around two tables which had been pushed together, a massive birthday cake covered in too many candles to count waiting for Ozpin. He stopped before it, murmuring words of greeting to Port and Oobleck, and even waving at Ironwood, who was beginning to make his way through the crowds towards them. 

From the table, Glynda picked up a small, plastic crown emblazoned with the words BIRTHDAY BOY, and presented it to Ozpin like a question. 

He, of course, laughed and bowed his head, allowing Glynda to place it among his silver hair, and when he straightened again, a cheer went up, accompanied by a couple stray sparklers going off somewhere in the ballroom. 

“Ozpin! I hope you don’t mind we’re starting with the cake!” Oobleck greeted, faithfully nursing a cup of coffee.

“Of course, you are the man of honor here,” Port quickly interjected. “So it’s up to you!”

“No, no, I don’t mind, but—this is—” he began, stopping momentarily to gesture towards the cake. “Surely you know I can’t blow out all of these candles!”

His eyes had a watery sheen, tears collecting at his lashes, but he laughed brilliantly, waving off the encouragements of the others. Glynda remained steadfast at his side, and leaned in to whisper, “They’re specially made Dust candles, Oz. Give it a try.”

Sneaking her a little, delighted look, he bent forward, resting both hands on the head of his cane, his crown nearly slipping from his head as he inhaled deeply and then blew. Like dominos falling in lines, the candles snuffed out in a wave that travelled around the impressive face of the cake, and yet another cheer went up, congratulations and well-wishes spilling from those closest to Oz. 

Ozpin stood, and without pausing, turned to Glynda and wrapped his arms around her. “Thank you,” he told her, lingering in the embrace for a long moment. When he finally pulled away, he glowed with unbridled love. “This is a wonderful gift you’ve given me, Glynda.”

“It’s the least I could,” she replied, adjusting his crown so it sat on his head properly. “For all you’ve done for me.”

For Glynda, Oz’s friendship was irreplaceable, a precious thing she would cherish all her life. 

Then Oobleck was there, pushing a microphone into Ozpin’s hands, and Glynda offered a small, almost apologetic smile. Ozpin returned it, and lifted the microphone to begin to speak, thanking those gathered for their presence and their kindness. 

Glynda watched him, feeling something warm gather in her chest at the sight of him like this. It wasn’t until he reached up in an absent motion to touch the brooch at his neck that she looked away, suddenly realizing that Cinder was nowhere to be seen. 

A moment of panic dissolved the moment she spotted Ironwood, towering above the heads of the many students in the ballroom, his expression telling a story of futility: he’d spotted Cinder, but it hadn’t stayed that way for long. Glynda smiled to herself, scanning the crowd to try and find Cinder. With this many people? Cinder could be anywhere. 

Some things, she supposed, would never change.

Ozpin concluded his speech to a round of applause, and he welcomed the guests to have their fill of cake and drinks, thanking those who had provided them again. Then he set aside the microphone and headed turned towards Glynda, much to the disappointment of the people waiting for his ear.

“I’d best go see what’s troubling the General,” he said, though his smile betrayed that he, too, most definitely had noticed Cinder’s disappearance under Ironwood’s stare. “And… I do hope that Ms. Fall behaves herself. The last dance she attended at Beacon...”

Glynda snorted, surprised that he’d remembered the last time Cinder had visited Beacon during an event. She supposed, on that front, they really had come full-circle. “She’s not planning on burning anything down…to my knowledge.”

He smiled and gave Glynda’s arm a squeeze and walked off, leaving her there to enjoy the festivities by herself. For a moment, she merely stood there, unsure of what to do. People were already separating into groups now that the event had well and truly begun. Many lined up for cake, while others idled at the archways leadings out into the gardens.

Pyrrha Nikos, true to form, stood almost a head above the rest of the student body, and Glynda managed to catch her eye and offer a small wave, though the girl barely had to chance to respond in kind with Nora Valkyrie buzzing around her.

Ozpin was off trying to console Ironwood of Cinder’s presence, and Cinder herself… Who could say? That left Glynda to mingle alone—or, at least, it would have had she not caught a splash of frigid white and blue in the corner of her eye. Despite her failure to find a hint of Cinder, the sight of another familiar face brought a blaze of warmth to life in her chest. Without another thought, she was crossing the crowded ballroom, smoothly navigating the crowd as if she, too, was dancing.

Like Glynda, Winter had let her hair down for the occasion, and crisp curls of white tumbled over her bare shoulders like a frozen waterfall. She was seated at one of the tables lining the edges of the room, nursing a glass of punch. Her dress was royal blue where it cut just above her bust, and lightened until it was brushing white around her ankles.

It felt strange to see her without the sharp angles of her Atlesian uniform. Her eyelashes were dark with makeup, her lips rosy pink, and her eyes were alive with joy. Glynda had thought of it before, but only now did the recognition of how beautiful she truly was sink in.

She was leaning on the table, resting her cheek on her right palm, looking more relaxed than Glynda had ever seen her. Her left arm was extended out, and sitting in the chair next to her, Weiss Schnee had a hand on her forearm, apparently in the middle of some long explanation.

Glynda’s eyes had all but skipped over Weiss when she noticed Winter, but seeing the two of them next to one another was remarkable. Weiss was a smaller, softer version of Winter, clad in the same color dress—though hers only reached her knees—and makeup done in the same style as Winter’s. Sapphires adorned her ears and neck, her hair was up in her usual ponytail, and her eyes held more life than they ever did during lectures and training drills.

The smile Winter wore was brimming with affection, and she was giving Weiss her full attention—and Weiss was  _ glowing. _

Winter’s dress was sleeveless, and her left arm gleamed in the light of the chandeliers, all polished steel and silver details, an Atlesian masterpiece prosthetic to rival Ironwood’s own. As Glynda approached, Weiss talked on, pointing to various joints and turning her sister’s new arm in her hands.

Only when Glynda stopped right by their table did Winter’s eyes flicker away from Weiss. She straightened somewhat in her seat, and Weiss stopped mid-sentence, noticing she had lost Winter’s undivided attention. 

Glynda smiled cautiously, worried for a moment that her arrival was an intrusion, but Winter returned the look wholeheartedly. “Glynda!”

Weiss glanced between Glynda and Winter, her brows pulling together in what almost seemed like suspicion. “Professor Goodwitch,” she greeted coolly.

“No need for formalities here,” Glynda said, and Weiss’ tense shoulders relaxed a little. “Am I interrupting? I can come back—”

Winter pulled her new arm from her sister and smiled at her. “Nothing we can’t continue later. Right?”

Weiss hesitated, looking between them once more. Glynda recognized that face. It was the one she wore frequently in class, when someone else was given the floor while she thought it was still her turn in the spotlight. Only after a long moment had passed, she agreed, “Right.”

Winter motioned to an empty seat across from herself at the table. “Weiss was explaining her ideas about upgrades.” Her eyes glittered; she held up her metal hand and wiggled her fingers. “She’s rather inspired by her teammate’s Dust-powered gauntlets.”

Glynda took her seat with a smile. “Ah, Miss Xiao Long.”

At the first chance to continue her idea, Weiss’ earlier hesitation melted away. She nodded vigorously. “Yang only uses red Dust, but I thought—we could build a rotating chamber for your arm like the one on Myrtenaster. It would make you more versatile—not that you aren’t already—and, well, we could match.”

The note of excitement in Weiss’ voice at the last statement was like a chorus of small bells ringing, and Glynda thought she had a few ideas about who had arranged the sisters’ near-identical appearances tonight.

“Yes, we could.” The look Winter was giving Weiss was endlessly fond, and she rested one hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Although…I’d have to get those adjustments approved.”

At that, Weiss made a face, scrunching up her nose as if what Winter had said was utterly preposterous. Glynda smothered a smile. “They’d have to be  _ stupid _ to tell you no, Winter! You  _ just _ saved all of Remnant.”

It was certainly true that Winter’s service in the far Atlesian wastes had earned her not just a new rank, but four new medals to add to her growing selection—but Winter colored at the words, her cheeks turning the same rosy pink as her lips, and she adjusted her hair if only to have an excuse to turn her eyes away. “That’s a vast overstatement of the part I played, Weiss. In the grand scheme of things, I was relatively unimportant. The real keystone was Glynda.”

When Winter batted the praise over to Glynda, Weiss turned to face her, sizing her up as if trying to judge how likely that was. Glynda raised her eyebrows. If Winter was expecting backup, she would be sorely disappointed.

Amused, Glynda said, “No need to be modest, Winter. We could never have made it without you.”

Weiss seemed satisfied, but Winter floundered harder, her cheeks now bright red. “Glynda, that’s—hardly accurate, I—”

“See?” Weiss cut her off. “The  _ least _ they could do is let you do what you want with your new arm.”

Had it been anyone else, Glynda would have expected Winter to give one of her icy, withering glares—for the crime of not only interrupting her, but directly arguing with her. But against Weiss, she seemed totally incapable of offering any resistance. Backed into a corner, Winter looked between the two of them, and then dared a small, resigned smile. “Well, I doubt General Ironwood would have a problem with a few additions. Speaking of the General—”

Winter shot a pointed look Glynda’s way, and the absence of Cinder by her side became almost tangible—like a piece of her was missing entirely. She tried a smile, shrugged, and resisted the impulse to touch her chest as if she would search for Cinder within her own heart. Instead, she let her hands drift together, her fingers finding the spinner ring on her left ring finger and giving it a few twists. “Oh, Cinder’s…around.”

“I admit it’s a bit strange to see you by yourself,” Winter said, affirming Glynda’s anxiety. “You two are usually attached at the hip.”

“Well, you know.” Glynda laughed, offering no explanations. Weiss’ confusion was only doubled when Winter nodded along. After what had happened to them, neither liked to be apart for too long, as if the two of them were only equipped to handle the world as a pair.

Both Winter and Weiss gave a start, eyes on something behind Glynda, and that was her only warning before the chair next to her was all but torn from the table. Cinder slid into it quickly, and the gust of wind that accompanied the force of her arrival disturbed the napkins on the table. Golden eyes flickered over the crowd at their backs and she seized Glynda’s elbow, tugging her closer so she would hear her conspiratorial whisper:

“I’m almost certain I lost him on the patio, but if you see any other soldiers, I need to—”

Glynda kept casually spinning her ring, amusement bubbling up inside her as Cinder oriented herself and discovered just who was sitting across from them. As Cinder’s voice died out, Weiss regarded her with distrust—and Winter leaned her head on her right hand again, metal fingers drumming on the table, a smile on her lips. “Speak of the devil, and she appears.”

“Ah.” That single note was strained, Cinder’s voice abnormally small. “Hello, Winter.”

Glynda recognized Cinder’s stiff posture of imminent flight, and she set her hand on Cinder’s thigh to keep her seated.

“I’m off duty,” Winter said, motioning to her outfit. 

The change was immediate—the tension bled out of Cinder like a dam had broken, and she all but deflated against Glynda, leaning into her shoulder. “Oh, wonderful.”

Cinder wouldn’t have looked half as winded if it had been a fight—she’d already shown she could decimate Ironwood effortlessly if it came to that. In a contest of brute strength and firepower, there were a numbered few who could stand a chance against Cinder—but when it came to not making a scene?

Neither of them was very good at that.

“You want a drink?” Glynda asked.

“I’d rather just sit,” Cinder murmured.

“Ironwood is tenacious,” Winter commented idly. “I suspect you haven’t seen the last of him.”

Though she leaned closer to her sister to speak, Weiss didn’t bother keeping her voice down: “Winter, do you  _ know  _ her?” she fixed Cinder with a hard stare, equal parts suspicious and judgmental. “Why is she running from General Ironwood?”

Winter looked quite delighted to have the question posed to her, folding her hands on the table as if she was getting ready to announce the best news of her life. She didn’t lower her voice either, nor did she stop smiling. 

“I’m afraid Cinder is an utter failure at showing any sort of common decency, and General Ironwood has a long memory for people like her.” The final words were accompanied by a strong look from Winter, one that had Cinder averting her gaze. “I suspect even the humblest of apologies wouldn’t clear the air between them. Not that she  _ would.” _

The weary flash of teeth Cinder offered in response was hardly contrite, but she still kept her voice low. “I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

“Oh, I’m  _ well _ aware,” Winter said.

Despite her sister’s relaxed posture, Weiss remained on edge, narrowing her eyes. It seemed the notion of offending Ironwood—easy as it was to do—was enough to impart a particularly unsavory impression on her. She watched Cinder all but draping herself over Glynda, and distaste radiated from her—Glynda wondered what she might think if she knew her own sister had dated Cinder in the past. 

A brief lull came over them before Glynda could put the thought aside: “Winter, I meant to ask you…I know you’re busy, but—have you gotten anything back regarding my request?”

Winter straightened up as the business talk lured out a bit of her usual acuity. Her eyes briefly darted to Weiss before settling back on Glynda’s face. Minding her privacy, Winter chose her words carefully: “The coordinates? Somewhat—I believe I should have something soon.” 

Cinder’s hand was warm over Glynda’s, her thumb rubbing circles on the back of Glynda’s hand. “I could ask Mercury to give it a look.”

Winter smiled, but shook her head. “The technical aspect isn’t the stumbling block, I’m afraid. It’s time—the landscape of the area has changed significantly in the past centuries. I could give you a broad estimation, but it wouldn’t be precise. My guess could be off by a mile, maybe more.” She paused. “If I was there with you, I might have a better chance of adjusting my calculations and steering you in the right direction.”

Cinder lifted her head from Glynda’s shoulder. “Can you do that? I thought you were on vacation.”

“Well, we wouldn’t be able to use a military craft, but if memory serves, you have a number of airships at your disposal.”

Considering they had flown here tonight in one of Cinder’s ships, Glynda had to concede—Winter wasn’t wrong. From private islands to a small dock’s worth of airships, there seemed to be no shortage of luxuries available to Cinder—regardless of how much she complained about the decline in business. Indeed, a self-satisfied flash of teeth was Cinder’s only reply.

It didn’t seem like being consigned to a mere civilian craft would deter Winter, either. The way she leaned forward in her seat positively oozed excitement, her eyes glittering with that rebellious spark of adventure Glynda had seen in Weiss so many times before.

“In that case, we’re all set,” Winter concluded. “As long as the two of you don’t mind my being there.”

“Your company isn’t nearly as bad as Cinder’s,” Glynda replied. 

“That’s true,” Cinder agreed, her expression veering towards sly as she added, “Besides, Glynda needs  _ someone _ to laugh at her jokes.”

Smothering a bit of laughter, Winter apparently missed the look passed between the two of them: Cinder endlessly smug and Glynda brushing alarm. Nodding, she continued without a beat missed: “Excellent. I’ll forward you the dates I’m available.”

Pinching Cinder beneath the table until she relented, Glynda tried to smooth her face back into neutrality, finding it all too easy to do. 

Cinder’s jokes aside, there wasn’t any other person Glynda would rather have with her on this final leg of the journey. She was sure Cinder felt the same. When it came to a journey, neither could imagine a better captain to ferry them to safety. Winter had been with them through it all—a constant, steady presence they both had looked to when things turned for the worse. Without Winter, Glynda wasn’t sure they would have made it at all.

If Winter wanted to see this through with them, Glynda wasn’t about to complain.

“Where are you going?” Weiss’ voice pulled them all from their thoughts. The girl had her hand on Winter’s arm, right on the seam where flesh became metal, and her expression pulled together in a concern so deep it almost looked pained. “Winter, I don’t want you to—”

“Don’t worry about me, Weiss,” Winter chuckled. “I’m not going on another world-saving mission.”

This didn’t seem to soothe Weiss in the slightest, but she fell silent, jaw tense and eyes locked on Winter’s arm.

Winter had almost died the last time she went out into the field. Though she had escaped with her life, the new scars, the steel parts—they must have been a vivid reminder, to both of the sisters, of what had almost been lost.

Glynda didn’t know what to say to that, and Weiss’ unspoken fear hung above them like a dark night sky. Winter was right that this wasn’t anything like their trip through Atlas—but Glynda couldn’t think of any way to reassure Weiss of that.

Even Winter seemed unable to think of something to say that would dispel the dark cloud that suffocated their conversation. Slowly, as if she was unsure of whether it was an acceptable maneuver, she slid her arm around Weiss’ shoulders and hugged her close—as if merely being close to one another would clear the sky and allow new light.

“I'll come back,” Winter said. “I promise.”

Weiss nodded, her face pressed into Winter’s shoulder. “I know.”

“I know we Schnee girls aren't exactly known for staying put—but I promise this time I'll remain far away from anything dangerous.” Winter let go of her sister and smiled. 

Indeed; just by the sisters holding each other tight, the pressure of Weiss’ anxiety let up, and she dared to smile back. “You better… I’ll be very cross if you don’t.”

Then, as if suddenly realizing this had all occurred with an audience, both sisters leaned back into their own seats, Weiss trying to look bored as she drummed her fingers across the table. For her part, Winter busied herself smoothing the creases from her dress. 

Glynda would have offered a lifeline to them had she not been so distracted by their exacting similarities. For that reason, it fell to Cinder to save them. Most surprising of all was that she  _ did. _

“Actually, Winter,” Cinder began. 

Winter seized upon the distraction quickly, giving Cinder her full attention. “Yes?”

“I—” Like the words were oil slick on her tongue, it took her a moment to grasp them, working out: “had something I wanted to discuss with you too.”

Winter’s brow arched. “Oh?”

“In private.”

“Oh.”

That her embarrassment cooled so swiftly struck Glynda as a bad sign, but then, if this was what Glynda suspected it was, that was to be expected. 

“If you don’t mind,” Cinder quickly amended. “It doesn’t have to be now—”

“Weiss, do you mind?” Winter asked, not giving Cinder’s floundering any mind. 

Though she too was still recovering, Weiss turned to study Cinder, as though she might glean some intent from her body language alone. While Glynda couldn’t speak for how successful she was, something told her that, if nothing else, Weiss relished the fact that she was making a grown woman fidget under her scrutiny. 

“You’ll still be around afterwards, right?” Weiss asked finally. 

“I will,” Winter replied. “If possible, I’d love to meet your team after I finish with this.”

Weiss nodded, a spark returning to her eyes. “They’re around here somewhere. Blake is probably in a corner somewhere with a book, but—I’ll get them together so you can meet them.”

With another smile exchanged between them, Winter nodded and Weiss rose, surveying the room before heading off in search of the members of her team. Winter watched her go before swinging her gaze back to Cinder. 

“Shall we?”

Cinder nodded, and Glynda gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze right before she rose from her seat. 

“Glynda, if you see Ironwood—”

“I’ll tell him I don’t know anyone by the name of Cinder Fall.”

Cinder nodded again, flashing an appreciative grin, and then gestured for Winter to follow her. 

“I’ll see you later, Glynda,” Winter said, waving as she went. 

Glynda waved back, hoping for Cinder’s sake that this didn’t go as disastrously as she was sure it would.

While Cinder and Winter disappeared into the throngs of party-goers, Glynda rose and stretched, languid as a house cat. It only took a quick survey of the room to find her next waypoint, positioned strategically at the edges of the ballroom, where the doors had been thrust open to let in the cool, nighttime air. 

In the shadow of a white gate covered in climbing ivy, Glynda found one of the many punch bowls and took her time getting a healthy swig for herself. There were always rumors that these things were spiked by some audacious senior, but Glynda could never tell over the too-sweet base. 

Besides, she thought, continuing to work through her drink at the same, leisurely pace. It wasn’t like she was really a teacher presently anyway.

She was just about to move on to see if that break had been enough for Ozpin to rein in Ironwood once more when she spotted who but the man himself making his way towards her. 

Among the students, he was easily one of the tallest people there, excluding Ozpin and Glynda herself. As such, it was immediately obvious that his direction was no accident. He locked eyes with her, clearly seeking a meeting. 

Glynda considered. 

It might not have been as easy for her as it was for Cinder to lose him in the crowd, but she was sure she could manage it, with some effort. Glynda did not feel like putting in the effort. 

So instead, she waited, filling her cup once more and lounging against the punch table. 

“Glynda,” Ironwood greeted, his breath coming quick. There was sweat on his brow, and though he clearly was speaking to her, his eyes darted around, ever searching. “I need to speak with you about—”

“I haven’t seen her,” Glynda replied, taking a sip of the punch. 

Like he’d had the rug yanked out from under him, Ironwood froze, taking a deep inhale and then finally looking at Glynda. 

“You haven’t seen her,” he repeated.

“Nope.”

“You arrived together. You’ve been living together!”

Over the rim of her glasses, Glynda’s stare was empty. “Yeah.”

Ironwood could only sputter. “Glynda—”

Without missing a beat, Glynda leaned forward off her perch, setting off in a random direction. “It’s been nice talking to you, James.”

Before she could execute her flawless exit from that conversation, Ironwood caught her by the wrist, saying, “Wait, wait—” A deep sigh. “Okay, fine. Could  _ we _ talk?”

Like she’d just bitten into a particularly sour lemon, Glynda’s face contorted. “What?”

Releasing her, Ironwood moved to the punch bowl, filling a cup for himself. He let out another exaggerated sigh and then took a long gulp. “Ozpin has been impossible in regards to you. He won’t tell me a thing!”

Sipping her own drink, Glynda narrowed her eyes. 

Ironwood caught her drift, immediately backpedaling. “I mean—about anything! Not necessarily where the two of you have been. Your health too! I only have a little to go on, what with the Witch thing, but—have you recovered?”

“Recovered?”

“Your Aura, I mean. The medical reports from the ship said you’d lost your Aura, though no one could say whether it was a temporary effect or...”

Glynda glanced down at her hands, the evidence of recent cuts or scrapes clear to see. Ironwood looked too, following her gaze, and for a moment, Glynda wondered what he’d think if he knew Cinder Fall was the one patching her up with multi-colored bandaids.

Taking another sip of her drink, she clarified, “It’s still gone.”

“And the Void that Ozpin mentioned? That’s gone too?”

“Oh, haha. Heavens, no.” Glynda actually had to stop herself from smiling, though Ironwood’s expression immediately dropped. Tone as dry as deserts, she explained, “No, no, actually, it turns out that when it doesn’t give you superpowers, it’s just called depression, and that’s definitely still kicking around.”

After a lifetime of smothering her emotions, there was no easy off switch. It was a process, she was learning. Some days were better than others, but inevitably, there were days that were worse as well.

Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one hoping for a sudden reversal.

“Oh.” If crestfallen had a face, it would certainly be the one Ironwood was making at that moment. Something about it reminded her of the first time Ozpin had seen her after everything, the way he’d staggered towards her, his eyes darting from her hollow stare to the scars carved into her skin like fractures of the night sky visible through the broken fragments of the moon. It was almost a little touching, coming from Ironwood. “Oh. I thought… Well, it was my understanding that without your Aura, you would no longer be a Witch.” 

“That’s—” Glynda paused, finding her voice suddenly lodged in her throat. “Debatable. I guess.”

“That’s too bad. I was hoping—Glynda? Glynda, where are you going?”

To be honest, Glynda herself didn’t even know. What she did know was that she was quite finished with the conversation. In fact, she didn’t know why she’d endured it that long to begin with. Ironwood was entirely undeserving of her presence, much less her time, and now that she didn’t have the obligations of a position, she didn’t need to subject herself to him. 

Putting one foot in front of the other, she wandered back into the ballroom, one hand drifting to the hollow cage of her chest. She didn’t linger, not wanting Ironwood to catch up to her—assuming he would dare.

Around her, the party continued, groups of students, faculty, and other esteemed guests all flitting between conversation, snacks, and even dancing. Glynda was very small in the scheme of things, no one seeming to notice her adrift, on her own. 

Looking for safe harbors, Glynda spotted Ozpin, radiant in his little plastic crown, laughing with a group of teachers near the table with his birthday cake. In an alcove beneath an archway leading to the gardens, Weiss Schnee had gathered up the other three members of her team and was presenting them to a very encouraging Winter. 

Glynda’s heart leapt at the sight of Winter, but to her immediate disappointment, she found Cinder was not with her. It occurred to her that it was Cinder she was looking for, no one else, and with a huff, she moved on.

Even without her soul to lead her to Cinder, there were only so many places Cinder could hide, especially when Glynda knew Beacon as well as she did. Glynda checked them all, working through her options—the many hidden nooks in which students took refuge, only to scatter like criminals when Glynda poked her head in; the hall which led away from the party, in which few milled about; and the myriad of patio spaces, flanked on all sides by flowerbeds and drenched in moonlight—until the only place left was the balcony which overlooked the great lawn. 

A small, relieved smile curled at Glynda’s lips when she emerged from the maze of winding passageways and staircases crested the stairs, the familiar shape of Cinder’s back turned to her. 

“I should have known you’d be here,” Glynda said, announcing herself. “A romantic meeting on a secluded balcony? Very dramatic.”

Without looking back, Cinder replied,  _ “Ugh.” _

“Don’t  _ ugh _ me,” Glynda retorted, using Cinder’s own words from earlier that morning. “I hope you didn’t scare any of the students to get the place to yourself.”

Glynda closed the distance between them with easy strides, but Cinder didn’t rise to meet her. Bent at the banister of the balcony, Cinder stared out into nothing, an expression Glynda recognized on her face. 

“Hmm.” Setting her elbows on the cool stone beside Cinder, Glynda asked, “How did things go with Winter?”

Like a great dam breaking, Cinder let out a sound of deflation, burying her face in her hands for a moment. Then, without raising her head from her palms, she muttered, “I told her I wanted to offer Ochre’s family a fund for any of the funeral expenses and some extra to ensure a very comfortable life for his next of kin… ”

Glynda pursed her lips. “Did you actually apologize?”

“Yeah.” A huff. “She called me a bitch. Among other things.”

“So. Not as bad as you thought.”

“Not as bad as I thought,” Cinder agreed. “I thought she was going to slap me. With her sword. The pointy end of it.” Noticing Glynda’s amused expression, Cinder grumbled, “Well. Anyway, she’ll help me set that up. Anonymously, of course.  _ But not for me. For Ochre.” _

The final bit was in an imitation of Winter’s voice, nearly as bad as the one Glynda had attempted earlier that day.

“That’s good,” Glynda said, reaching for Cinder’s hand. Gently, she intertwined their fingers, coaxing some of that tension from Cinder. Pausing for a moment, Glynda added, “She’s pretty good at putting on a good face, huh?”

“Do you know what kind of home she came from? Pretending things are fine is the first lesson Jacques Schnee teaches all his children… One of these days even  _ she’s _ not going to be able to tell what’s fake and what’s real.”

“Hm.” That didn’t sound good, but Glynda didn’t think she knew enough about healthy coping mechanisms to really comment. Instead, she asked, “Is she… Still coming with us?”

“Yeah. I told you, she likes  _ you.” _

There was a rueful note in Cinder’s voice. Glynda considered. 

“You know, in the scheme of this whole seduce Winter plan, you’re not really pulling your weight.”

“Glynda, that is a fake plan that never existed, even a little bit.”

“But  _ if it did, _ I’m basically doing all of the work right now.”

A muffled groan was her only response. Glynda didn’t tease her anymore, lifting their intertwined hands to kiss the ridge of Cinder’s knuckles instead.  

They stayed there like, Cinder looking off into nothing. As always, Glynda found herself looking up, the night sky above them scattered with stars and fragments of moonlight. Some sort of gravity kept the shards of the moon in a loose formation, and as far as anyone knew, that was simply how it would stay. It was still bright, however, casting its pale beams down on Remnant. 

“Glynda?” 

Blinking, Glynda startled out of her trance. Where one of her hands remained in Cinder’s, the other had drifted to her chest, fingers digging against her sternum. Gold eyes watched as she tucked it away at her side.

“Yes?”

“How are you?”

“Oh… You know…” Glynda shrugged. Words were hardly her strong suit, especially when it came to herself. Still, Cinder had that look like Glynda had just cut herself and she was trying to figure out where. “The party is…” She paused, recalling Ironwood’s words. “Nice.”

Cinder nodded. “Everyone looked happy to see you.”

“Yeah,” Glynda agreed, though it sounded hollow even to her own ears. For a moment, she considered mentioning what he’d said to Cinder, about her not being a Witch anymore. Then it occurred to her where that conversation would end, and she pushed the idea from her mind altogether. Trying to forge ahead, she added, “I’m glad we came, but…”

“Should we get going?”

Glynda shook her head. “I’m okay… I think I just want to stay here with you for a bit.”

Against her shoulder, Glynda felt Cinder’s smile. “Hm. And you call me a hopeless romantic. Escaping a party to a moonlit balcony—”

“Hey. I was only following  _ you. _ ”

“—the next thing I know, you’ll be asking me to dance.”

“Maybe, if you were any good.”

Scoffing, Cinder said, “I’ll have you know that my skill level is a direct reflection of my teacher’s, and I can’t be held responsible for it.”

“Are you actually trying to make this my fault?” Glynda leaned back, if only to peer down at Cinder, who responded to her frown with a smirk and a shrug. 

“What are you going to do about it if I am?”

“I guess I’m going to give my talentless girlfriend—”

“Hey!”

“—extra lessons, so she doesn’t ruin my good name.”

Cinder was already partway through laughing at the obvious joke when Glynda stepped away from the railing. She set one foot slightly in front of the other, her body bending at the waist, one arm extended. Everything just so, as she remembered from when she learned. 

The night was pleasantly cool. A gentle breeze carried the scent of the gardens—camellias, roses, and viscarias—up to the balcony. Glynda’s hair stirred where it hung around her shoulders, and her glasses slid further down her nose the longer she stayed there, bowing. 

“Love,” Glynda said, raising her head a fraction of an inch. “Are you really going to leave me hanging here—” 

Cinder’s hand slid into Glynda’s, a gentle acceptance bolstered by the warmth in her palm, the suggestion of a glow across her cheeks. 

Softly, Cinder said, “You’re going to ruin  _ my _ good name.”

Despite her words, she came when Glynda straightened and guided her closer, their fingers intertwining. Propriety might have demanded a modicum of space between them, but neither of them had ever cared much for propriety, and they pressed flush against each other, Glynda finding Cinder’s hip while Cinder trailed her fingers up toward Glynda’s shoulder. 

Close enough to kiss, Cinder was a thing of beauty, scars and horns all. It was all Glynda could do to swallow the sudden lump in her throat and think of something pithy to say. 

“I’m surprised you remember how to start,” Glynda said, taking the first step back. Cinder followed Glynda’s lead, moving forward as she moved back. “Maybe I did teach you something.”

Black lips quirked, and that golden stare held Glynda’s own as they began to take their steps in earnest. “Your instruction wasn’t… terrible.”

“Flattery? From  _ you?  _ Am I dreaming?”

“I could mock you if you’d prefer.”

“No, no,” Glynda amended quicky. “This is fine. This is good.”

Their dance was clumsy, as everything between them tended to be, but the sensation of Cinder’s body against her own, of her breath on Glynda’s lips, of the little murmurs of apologies they made as they struggled to find a rhythm—that felt right. 

Glynda’s thoughts must have showed on her face, because as they twirled across the balcony, the pale light of the moon hanging high above them, Cinder murmured, “You really are a hopeless romantic, Glynda.”

An accusation bare of any bite. Glynda smiled. “And what does that make you?”

“Hopelessly in love with you,” Cinder replied without a moment’s hesitation. “I thought that was obvious.”

The bluntness of the confession struck Glynda speechless, but only for a moment. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Cinder’s with all the stars and the sky and the moon as her witness, and murmured back, “Yeah. I guess it is.”


End file.
